


Aimless

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU, in which a recently regenerated Doctor lands in the backyard of one seven-year-old Rory Williams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Aimless  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** Rory/Eleven  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Slash, implied M/M sex, implied M/F sex, severe bullying, clinical depression, blatant abuse of science, AU, UN-BETAED  
>  **Spoilers:** 5x01, possible mentions of various other episodes **  
> ** **Summary:** An AU, in which a recently regenerated Doctor crashes in the backyard of seven-year-old Rory Williams.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Doctor Who and all related themes and characters belong to the BBC. No copyright infringement was intended. I am making no money from the production of this fictional story.

"Come on, Rory, keep up!"

Rory groans and pumps his legs faster. "It's hard enough to keep up with you even when I can walk _normally!_ "

The Doctor shoots him an irritated look over his shoulder. "Oh, you're not still going on about that!"

"It's your fault!"

"You're a consenting adult, Rory Williams, it's not my fault if you can't handle me! You should have thought about that last night!"

"Oh, shut up!"

For once, the Doctor does exactly what he's told, and Rory chances a look back. The large, surprisingly fast, slug-like aliens that were following them seem to be falling behind.

When Rory turns around, he crashes into the Doctor's back.

"Ow!" Rory's hand comes up to clutch at his nose. It doesn't feel broken, but it hurts like hell. "A little warning would be nice next time!" He steps around the Doctor to see that they're facing a solid brick wall. A dead end. His heart sinks. They've been cornered.

"I don't understand!" the Doctor whines. "I left it right here, I know I did!"

"Left what here?" Rory asks with a frown.

"The TARDIS, of course!" The Doctor paces around the small area, flashing the sonic screwdriver over the wall.

"Doctor!" Rory exclaims in disbelief. "You left the TARDIS back that way!" He throws his arm behind him, pointing back the way they had come.

"What? Rory, no!" The Doctor shakes his head. "I left it right here, I'm sure of it!"

"No, it was next to the docks!"

The Doctor stares at him silently for a moment. "Rory," he says finally. "If you knew the TARDIS was that way, why did you let me come this way?"

"I thought you knew what you were doing!"

"Well—" The Doctor breaks off suddenly and runs at him. "Rory, get down!"

He barrels into him and the two hit the ground hard. Rory feels a sting in the side of his head as it bounces off the ground. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" the Doctor demands. "Did they hit you?"

"What? No!" Rory raises a hand to his head and his fingers come away with a few tiny drops of blood, but not enough to come from a serious injury. "I'm fine," he reassures the Doctor. "I just hit my head."

Much to his surprise, though, the Doctor grabs him by the shoulders and stares seriously into his eyes. "Rory, are you sure?" he demands. "Are you absolutely positive they didn't hit you?"

Rory frowns. "Yes, I'm sure. Doctor, I'm fine, relax." At the Doctor's disbelieving look, he adds, "I don't even know what they would have hit me with! I'm fine!"

The Doctor stares for a moment more, and then finally nods. "All right. Come on, then, back to the TARDIS!" He grabs Rory's hand and starts dragging him back the way they came.

"Doctor, wait!" Rory protests. "What about those things that were chasing us?"

"Oh, they left."

Rory is now completely confused, but he allows the Doctor to lead him back to the TARDIS. When they finally get back, the Doctor bounces up the stairs and starts throwing switches and pressing buttons like a madman. Rory is astounded that the man still has energy left to do anything. Between not getting much sleep the night before (he still blames the Doctor for that) and the whole 'running for their lives' thing today, Rory is fairly certain that he's never going to have enough energy to ever do anything ever again.

"All right, then!" the Doctor exclaims as the TARDIS begins its dematerialization cycle. "Where do you wanna go?"

Rory walks up the stairs with a yawn. "Bed."

The Doctor frowns. "Oh, so you can spend all day whining and complaining about how much your arse—"

 _"Doctor!"_

"—hurts, but the moment we get back to the TARDIS, you try to seduce me? That's hardly fair."

Rory glares. "First of all, I'm not trying to seduce you. Second of all, if I _was_ , you wouldn't stand a chance."

"Oh, I doubt that." The Doctor frowns. "If you aren't trying to get me in bed, then what did you mean by 'bed'?"

"I meant," Rory says with a roll of his eyes, "that we can't all be insufferable Time Lords with never-ending stamina."

"It's not my fault if your clearly inferior human physiology can't keep up with me."

Rory shakes his head. "Yeah, well, my 'inferior human physiology' needs a rest. So if you don't mind..."

"Fine, be _boring_ then."

Rory just rolls his eyes again and heads for the stairs that will lead him to his room. As he sets his foot down on the top step, he hears the Doctor call, "Goodnight, Rory."

He smiles slightly. "Night, Doctor."

* * *

"Come on, Rory, time to wake up!"

Rory groans and pulls the pillow over his head. _You have_ got _to be kidding me_. "Doctor, what part of 'taking a rest' don't you understand!"

"Oh, come on, Rory, you've been sleeping for eight hours! You can't honestly still be tired! Besides, you're going to love what I've got planned for today. How does this sound: the universe's largest all-you-can-eat buffet. An entire _planet_ , full to the brim with the finest alien cuisine you can imagine."

"Doctor," Rory grunts into the bed, "I am not getting up for strange alien food. Do I need to remind you of the occasion on which the food was not only alive, but also sentient and tried to kill me?"

He can practically hear the Doctor pouting. "That was one time! And I wasn't with you then! I'll be right by your side this time to steer you away from anything that will try to kill you, so there's nothing to worry about!"

"Thanks, but I'll pass."

"You'll be wanting breakfast soon, anyway," the Doctor points out, "and the TARDIS kitchen is nice, but it's just not the same as a whole planet of food." There's a pause, and then, "Remember that New Earth diner we visited where you liked their omelettes so much that you had four?"

 _That_ catches Rory's attention. Apparently, it also catches his stomach's attention, because it growls loudly at the memory of those omelettes. Having been given away by his own body (stupid inferior human physiology), Rory sighs and gives up the fight. "All right, fine, we can go to the universe's biggest all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Wonderful! I'll just leave you to get dressed then, and then we'll be off!"

 _Five more_ _minutes_ , Rory promises himself. Just five more minutes of rest.

* * *

An hour later, Rory stumbles into the TARDIS console room with a yawn. The Doctor scowls at him. "It's about time! Come on, we're already here!"

Rory holds back a sigh as the Doctor grabs his hand and drags him out through the TARDIS doors.

He has to admit, it is sort of exciting to see all the different foods and the strange aliens. It's nice not to be running for their lives, that's for sure. And the Doctor gets so excited over little things—like a berry the size of a thumbnail that he swears will be a rare delicacy in about ten thousand years—that it's hard for Rory not to get caught up in his happiness.

Also—and this isn't to say that he's exactly paying attention—the Doctor doesn't let go of his hand the whole time.

Finally, after following a roundabout route to an area where they can find something that Rory's less than adventurous stomach will be able to take in (and keep in), they sit down at a small round table and Rory begins devouring his food. It's every bit as good as he remembers it. He rolls his eyes as the Doctor orders fish fingers and custard, which confuses their waiter, but the man seems content to just go with it for the Doctor's sake. A few minutes later, they're both happily eating.

The Doctor frowns when Rory beings to slow down. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rory says hastily. "Just not that hungry."

" _Rory_ …"

"I'm fine!" Rory insists. "Really. It's nothing. Just a headache, is all."

He expects the Doctor to give up on it, but instead, a spark of concern shows in his eyes. "How bad is it?"

"It isn't bad at all," Rory assures him. "It's nothing, really. Don't worry about me."

"How long have you had it?" the Doctor persists, now pulling out the sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor, really!" Rory protests. "There's nothing wrong with me! Get that out of my face!" he adds, shoving the sonic screwdriver away from him. The Doctor doesn't even seem bothered by this, though. Instead, he just turns the screwdriver to check the readings.

"We have to go," he announces. He reaches for Rory's hand again and drags him into a standing position, ignoring his protests. "Back to the TARDIS, let's go!"

"Doctor!" Rory exclaims. "I wasn't done eating! We didn't even pay!"

"No time for that," the Doctor tells him.

Something's wrong, Rory realizes. Very wrong. With _him_. Something pools in his stomach that has nothing to do with his food. "Doctor, what's going on?"

The Doctor doesn't answer.

* * *

Once back onboard the TARDIS, the Doctor sits him down on the jumpseat and sends the TARDIS into its dematerialization cycle. "We'll just sit in the Vortex for a while," he says, and Rory can detect a slight tremor in his voice. When the Doctor turns to face him, his expression is grave.

"Doctor," Rory tries again, "what's going on?"

"Rory, do you trust me?" the Doctor asks suddenly. _Why is he avoiding the question?_

"Of course I do," Rory answers. "But Doctor—"

"With your life?" The Doctor's voice is quiet, and he takes a step forward, staring deep into Rory's eyes.

"Doctor, what's wrong with me?" he whispers. At that, the Doctor's resolve seems to slip a little, but he stubbornly refuses to respond.

"Just answer the question, Rory," he tells him. He's standing right in front of him now, and he reaches out to gently hold his face in his hands.

Swallowing, Rory whispers, "Yes."

"Then close your eyes," the Doctor murmurs. Rory does as he's told, and a moment later, he feels the Doctor press his forehead to Rory's. Then there's an explosion of light behind Rory's eyes and he passes out.


	2. Chapter 2

The room he wakes up in is gray. Gray everything. Gray walls, gray floor, gray ceiling. The only thing that isn't gray is the wooden door set into one wall. Rory groans as a pounding ache takes up residence in his head and makes itself known.

"How do you feel?" the Doctor asks him, kneeling next to him and gently touching the side of his face.

"Headache's worse," Rory grunts.

The Doctor sighs. "Yes, I'd worried that might happen. Well, no need to worry, I can take care of this in, oh, two hours."

"Take care of what?" Rory asks as he struggles into a sitting position, slumped against one gray wall.

"Oh, nothing." The Doctor has the sonic screwdriver out and is flashing in Rory's face. "Just a bug of sorts."

"A bug?" Rory echoes. "Like, I'm sick?"

"Sort of." The Doctor hops up onto his feet and stows the sonic screwdriver away in his pocket. "Right then, I'll be back in about..." He glances at his watch. "Let's say an hour, shall we? Right, don't open the door. Not for anyone, not for anything. Not even for me. Understand?"

"No." Rory stares at the Doctor, absolutely confused. "Doctor, what's going on? How can I be sick and not even know it? And where are we? Are we still on the TARDIS?"

"Of course we are," the Doctor says dismissively with a wave of his hand. "Well, we aren't, but our bodies are. But technically, yes, we're still on the TARDIS."

"Our whats?" Rory yelps in shock. "Doctor, what the hell is going on?"

The Doctor sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. "Yesterday, when we were speaking with the Trallessi—"

"The slug things?" Rory interjects.

The Doctor stares at him in amazement for a moment. "Rory Williams, you did not just refer to one of the oldest and proudest races in the history of the universe as 'slug things.'" Before Rory can speak, though, he waves it away and says, "Yes, the 'slug things'. Anyway, when I was speaking with the king, while you were creating that fabulous distraction in the other room—"

"They tried to _kill_ me!"

"—the king showed me their rather impressive array of weapons which he used to warn me to never meddle in their affairs ever again. You see how much credit I get for stopping two civil wars and a nuclear disaster that would have wiped out their entire planet."

"Doctor, would you get to the point?"

"The point! Ah, yes, the point." The Doctor claps his hands together. "It seems that somehow, the Trallessi managed to get their hands on a collection of dart guns, the darts for which contained a completely illegal and highly lethal dose of what is known as a 'memory virus.'"

"A..." Rory stares at the Doctor uncomprehendingly. "A what? What the hell's a memory virus?"

"Well, technically it's not a virus at all, it's a bacterium, but by the time the poor chap who developed it got around to naming it, he had forgotten that. Tested it on himself, you see. Not his brightest idea."

"Doctor," Rory breaks in with a flat voice, "this is all fascinating, but could you please explain what this has to do with anything?"

The Doctor's face suddenly goes very grave. "When we were running, I saw one of them on top of the building holding one of those dart guns. Aimed at you."

"But they didn't hit me," Rory says with a frown. "You pushed me out of the way and I hit my head."

"No." The Doctor shakes your head. "You see, they were clever. When the king showed me the virus, he told me that they'd had their best engineers working on it, and I assumed that he meant the gun. But no, they must have engineered the virus to start working as soon as it reaches the brain. It immediately got rid of your memory of being shot with the dart."

"Got rid of my _what?_ " Rory demanded in shock, wide-eyed.

"Your memory." With a sigh, the Doctor sits back down next to Rory, leaning against the same wall. "That's what the memory virus does. It feeds on your memories. Everything you can remember—people, places, events, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. Even some things you don't realize you remember. And those memories just disappear, until there's nothing left of you."

Rory stares at the Doctor in horror. "And that thing is inside of me. It could be eating away at my memories right now, and there's nothing we can do to stop it."

"Yes, no, and no, actually."

"What?"

"Yes, it's inside you right now," the Doctor says. "But no, it's not taking your memories, and actually, there _is_ something we can do to stop it."

"How do you know it's not?" Rory frowns. "And how can you stop it?"

"Rory," the Doctor looks over at him, "do you know where we are?"

"Not a clue," Rory answers truthfully.

"We're inside your mind." The Doctor reaches over and taps Rory on the nose. "Inside that big old brain of yours."

"My what?" Rory splutters. "How is that possible? There can't be whole rooms inside my mind!"

"Ah, precisely!" The Doctor holds up a finger, looking rather like a mad scientist trying to explain some vastly complicated concept to someone who couldn't even begin to understand. Which, Rory supposes, he is. "This room doesn't exist. It's not real. It's just your brain's way of presenting a confusing concept to you in a way that makes sense and seems logical."

"And that concept would be…"

"Think of the ocean," the Doctor says with a grin. "You and all your memories are divers, the virus is a shark, and this room is the shark cage. As long as you stay inside the cage, the shark can't get to you."

"Okay... How are you going to stop the virus, then?"

With a wide smile, the Doctor reaches into his jacket and retrieves the sonic screwdriver. "With this, of course!"

Rory's eyes flick back and forth between the screwdriver and the Doctor's excited face for several long moments. Finally, he says, "You're going to sonically screwdrive my head."

The Doctor snorts. "Please, Rory, have you been listening to anything I've told you? It's your brain again, showing you how I'm going to fix something without making you implode from the complexity."

"Thanks, Doctor, that makes me feel loads better."

The Doctor sighs. "Look, Rory, it's going to be okay. I can handle this. I just need to step outside and have a look at your memories."

"All of them."

"Yep, every single one of them."

"But Doctor, wait." Rory's confused again. It seems to be a perpetual state with this situation. "I thought you said my memories were divers, too, in the shark cage. So why would you have to leave the room to get to my memories?"

The Doctor looks thoughtful for a moment. "All right, forget the shark. You, Rory, are an injured seal, bleeding profusely all over the place, the room is a boat, your memories are a school of fish in the ocean beneath us, and the virus is a shark."

"I thought you said to forget the shark."

"Well, no, don't forget the shark. Forget the shark cage and the divers. Remember the shark. The shark is the virus. Anyway, as long as you, the bleeding seal, that is, stay out of the water, the shark—the virus—won't be attracted to your memories—the fish. So as long as you stay in here, you and your memories are safe.

"Now, really, I have to get to work." Stowing the sonic screwdriver back inside his jacket, he heaves himself to his feet and shoots Rory a grin. "Don't worry, everything's going to be fine. I'll be back in an hour. And remember, don't open the door!" Then he practically hops across the room and opens the door.

"Doctor, wait—" Rory starts, but it's too late. The Doctor's gone. With a sigh, he slumps back against the wall and settles in for a long wait.

* * *

It has to be longest hour of Rory's life. He checks his watch at least once every five minutes. He wonders if whatever the Doctor's doing is even working—he can't feel anything, and it's a bit concerning. He lets out a loud sigh that echoes around the empty, gray room.

At around fifty eight and a half minutes, Rory is numb with boredom and falling asleep. He's startled out of his half-asleep funk, and at first, he isn't sure what it is that wakes him up. Then, there's a light rap on the door. Three knocks.

He's up on his feet and halfway across the room before he remembers the Doctor's warning. _"Don't open the door. Not for anyone, not for anything. Not even for me."_ He hesitates then and stops, his hand half reaching out. "W-who's there?" he calls warily.

There's no response but a heavy thud against the door that makes him jump, and then the door flies open and the Doctor steps inside, slamming the door heavily behind him. He sinks down to the floor, desperately gasping to catch his breath.

"Doctor!" Rory hurries over to him and sinks down next to him. He wants to reach out to him, but isn't sure if he should. "Doctor, what's happened, what's going on?"

"Virus," the Doctor pants, "at the door, it was trying to get in. But no matter, it's all taken care of now. Run away to go nurse its wounds." He groans and shifts against the door. "Which is what I should be doing, probably."

"You're hurt?" Rory doesn't see any blood, but then again, he doesn't think he's _ever_ seen the Doctor bleed. Does he even have blood? What if he's got clear blood and Rory can't see it and he's actually soaked with it right now and there's nothing Rory can do to save him?

"No, no, I just need to rest." The Doctor closes his eyes and takes a few deep, calming breaths. "I'll be fine in a little. This is what I get for trying to do so much at once. Suppose it was a bit of a stretch trying to get to that second birthday—by the way, you were _adorable_. You have no idea."

"Second—second birthday?" Rory stares at the Doctor incredulously. "You must be joking! You were gone for a whole hour! You said it would only take a couple of hours! Doctor!"

"Well, yes, a couple of real time hours. In here, everything slows down. It's probably only been about two and a half minutes out there." He waves his hand to demonstrate that he means the world outside Rory's mind.

"Two years," Rory breaths. "But… I didn't even feel anything. I don't even remember anything from before I was like five or six."

"Oh, no, _you_ don't, of course not." The Doctor opens his eyes and glances over at Rory as that would be obvious. "But your mind does. Picture a huge filing cabinet. Your brain is constantly taking in far too much information for it to handle—sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. And not just what you're physically feeling, but emotions, too—happy, sad, angry, confused, jealous, scared, excited. Your brain can't handle all that sensation at once, so it files all of the less important stuff away in the back. It does the same with memories, too. Anything connected to strong emotion, along with anything recent, is filed in the front. Little things that don't matter are pushed to the back with things that happened a long time ago. Over time, those files in the back start to decay and fall apart, until you can't read what's on them. It's all there, you just can't access it. And that, Rory Williams, is Alzheimer's!" He grins triumphantly. Rory just stares at him.

"Did you know," the Doctor goes on, and Rory knows that if he doesn't stop him soon, he's going to keep going forever, "that one in every ten thousand cases of Alzheimer's is actually a memory virus that got accidentally released?"

Rory's eyes widen. "But… Doctor… Alzheimer's people… They… They forget how to—how to smile, and how to sit up on their own, and talk and… breathe. They—they die."

The Doctor stares at him for a moment. "Oh. Oh, I wasn't going to tell you that. I shouldn't have said that. That was a bad thing to say."

"I could die?" Rory whispers.

"No!" The Doctor turns to him with a fierce look in his eyes. "No, Rory Williams, you are not going to die. As long as you keep the door closed and don't let the virus in, you'll be fine, I promise."

"But I could have." Rory's numb with the shock. "I could have died. If you hadn't seen it, if you hadn't known what to look for, I would have died. I almost died."

"Yes," the Doctor admits, "but Rory, people 'almost die' every single day. Did you know, when you were two months old, your mum put you in a stroller and started walking to the store. There was a car coming as you two crossed the street, the driver almost didn't see you, but at the last possible second, he did, and he hit the brakes, and he stopped. He was inches away from hitting you, but he didn't. You and your mother survived. You could have died right then, two months old, endless possibilities stretching in front of you. But you survived. You're right here, right in front of me." He grips Rory's shoulders and stares deep into his eyes.

Rory just stares back. He doesn't know what to say. He was so close to death. The only thing protecting him is a gray room and a wooden door.

 _And the Doctor,_ his mind whispers to him.

As if in response to his thought, the Doctor suddenly pulls him forward and presses their lips together.

It's not like the kisses from that night together, which were distracting and confusing and terrifying all at once. This is different. The Doctor's lips are firm, and yet soft at the same time—gentle, asking. With that same careful, gentle manner, he lightly takes Rory's bottom lip between his teeth. Rory gasps, and as his eyes slowly slide shut, the Doctor takes his opportunity to slowly lick his way into Rory's mouth. One of his hands slowly slides to the back of Rory's neck, and Rory threads his fingers through the Doctor's hair, pulling him closer. They're both active participants in this dance, their tongues pressed against each other.

It's glorious and breathtaking, stunning and disorienting, and just as everything around him starts to slip away, the Doctor pulls back.

Rory's gasping for breath, and the Doctor's hair is wild. Their foreheads press together as they stare into each other's eyes. The Doctor, Rory notes a bit sourly, isn't even slightly out of breath. Damn respiratory bypass. Damn Time Lord anatomy.

"Well," the Doctor says, bright eyed, "that was entertaining."

"'Entertaining?'" Rory raises an eyebrow. "You snog me within an inch of my life and call that 'entertaining?'"

"Wasn't it, though?" the Doctor says with a grin, and Rory has to admit that he's right.

"What now?" Rory breathes.

The Doctor pulls away abruptly. "I have to go!" he announces. "I've got to take care of those memories. I'll be back in another hour." He presses their lips together again, and Rory's just about to open his mouth to the Doctor once more when the Time Lord pulls away, bounces to his feet and gives Rory a grin. "Don't miss me!"

"But Doctor—!" Rory's cut off as the door shuts behind him, and he lets out a loud groan. Damn Time Lord.


	3. Chapter 3

Another hour passes, and Rory finds himself just as bored as he was the first time. It takes the Doctor an extra ten minutes than he said it would, and for sixty two minutes Rory is consumed with utter boredom. He spends every one of those sixty two minutes glaring at the wall opposite him. Well, part of those sixty two minutes. About halfway through his face starts to hurt so he stops.

After sixty two minutes, though, there's a knock at the door.

Rory tenses up, hoping for a minute that it's just his imagination. But then there's another knock. Surprising himself with his speed, he jumps up off the floor and presses himself against the wall opposite the door.

He isn't sure for how long the knocking persists. All he knows is that he spends the whole time trembling in fear. On the other side of a flimsy, wooden door is a creature that could make him forget everything—his whole life. For the first time, it hits him what could happen if it the thing gets to him. He'll forget everything that's ever happened to him. Weekend trips with his dad when he was a kid, seven years old staring at a crazy man with a blue box, meeting Amy, growing up, the people he saved at the hospital, traveling with the Doctor... His stomach clenches at the thought of forgetting everything that's happened between them.

Then, abruptly, the knocking cuts off. Rory tenses, afraid that it's going to come back, but minutes pass and there's nothing, so he lets himself sink down the wall with a gasp of relief and waits tearfully for the Doctor to come back.

When he finally does, Rory jumps up and exclaims, "It came back! The virus, it came back, it was knocking on the door."

"Good," the Doctor says flatly.

"Good?" Rory stares at him in astonishment. "How is that in any way good?"

"It's good because it's still knocking." The Doctor sits down on the floor and stretches his shoulders. "It'll probably try using disguises next. No matter what you hear, don't open the door. Whatever it wants you to think is out there probably isn't."

Rory sits down, too, and they remain in silence for a few moments. Finally, Rory says, "We need to talk."

The Doctor looks up curiously. "About what?"

"About that kiss," Rory answers. "And about... Everything. You and me. What the hell this is."

The Doctor frowns. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"This is why you're rubbish at relationships," Rory grumbles under his breath. Then, louder, "Most people don't just run off after nearly kissing someone to death. They... talk about it. What it means. What each person wants."

"Wants?" the Doctor echoes, and Rory restrains a groan. The man looks genuinely confused, as if he has no idea what Rory's talking about.

"Yes, Doctor," Rory says slowly. This is where his experience with children back at the hospital on Earth comes in handy. "Out of the..." He hesitates to call it a relationship, because what if that's not what the Doctor wants out of this? But he can't think of another word for it, so he settles for, "...relationship."

Something he's said seems to have finally gotten through to him, because the Doctor's eyes light up with understanding and apprehension. "Oh. That's what you mean."

"Yeah." Rory's mouth is dry. He _knows_ what he wants out of this. He's known for a long time. But what the Doctor wants...

Rory's not stupid. He knows there have been others before him. He's not the Doctor's first companion, nor, he suspects, will he be the last. Nine hundred years of time and space and all those companions, he's certain that the Doctor's loved someone before him. If he even loves Rory at all, that is. He wants to run away and hide his face in shame, because he feels like a schoolgirl with a crush.

It's not just the kiss, though. It's that night together, when neither of them was completely coherent or knew exactly what they wanted and everything felt right and wrong at the same time and Rory doesn't know how to feel about that night. It's the talk of "seducing" the Doctor and the easy way that they throw that night around in conversation like it's nothing. It's the holding hands and buying him breakfast and the "Do you trust me?" and protecting him from the virus. With anyone else, it would be fairly obvious what was going on, but this isn't anyone else. This is the Doctor and Rory knows how he feels and knows what he wants and he doesn't think he can take rejection from the Doctor of all people because he's known him since he was seven years old and he's scared.

He tells himself that they need to have this conversation. He can't put it off to spare his own feelings.

A pained expression comes over the Doctor's face. "Rory, I really don't think _now_ is the best time to be having this conversation. You know, virus trying to destroy your memories and all."

Oh. Yeah.

Rory chuckles weakly. "Uh, good point." But damn it, they need to have this conversation, and soon.

"As soon as we're out of this, though, we'll talk," the Doctor promises, as if he's read his mind. Rory nods, and then the Doctor's up again. "Right, then, I should probably be on my way." He glances over awkwardly at Rory, like he wants to give him a kiss goodbye but isn't sure if that's a good idea considering the conversation they just avoided having.

Rory sighs and rolls his eyes. He stands up and says, "Get over here."

With a grin, the Doctor practically bounces across the floor to Rory, presses their lips together in a brief, if passionate, kiss, and by the time Rory opens his eyes, he's gone.

* * *

There's almost no warning at all. Just a brief tingling sensation in the back of his mind, and then it feels like someone's grabbed him by the collar and dragged him headfirst into a pool of water.

Then he's standing at the top of the stairs. He's clutching a blanket tightly in one hand, and gripping the banister tightly with the other. Mummy and Daddy told him to go upstairs and wait for them _forever_ ago, and he got worried. He was going to go downstairs to find out what was going on when he heard the voices.

"How could you even think about doing this?" That's Daddy. "You can't just uproot our family and expect us to come to London with you!"

"And why not?" And there's Mummy. "Give me one good reason why I can't!"

"Well, for one," Daddy growls, "you went behind my back! I didn't know anything about this!"

"Because I knew that if I told you, you would do this!" Mummy exclaims ex-sas-per-ate-ed-ly (that was a word in a book Mummy read to him).

"Of course I would!" Daddy shoots back. "I have a life here! I've got a job, friends, my whole family's here! And so is yours, I might remind you!"

"This could be the biggest opportunity of my career," Mummy says, quieter, but more dangerous than before.

Daddy snorts. "What career? You were nineteen when we got pregnant with Rory. You've never worked a day in your life!"

"That didn't seem to bother you too much when you married me!"

"It didn't seem to bother _you_ too much that you were committing to Leadworth when you married me!"

"I wasn't committing to anything," Mummy snaps.

"You were committing to _me!_ "

"Well if you don't want to come, then fine," Mummy tells him angrily. "Stay here, with your stupid little life in this stupid little house in this stupid little town. See if I care!"

"And what about Rory?" Daddy demands. "You just going to leave him here, too? I honestly don't give a damn whether you stay with me or not, but you have a duty to your son. He deserves to have his mother here."

"Rory's a big boy, he'll learn to survive without me."

" He's four years old!" Daddy exclaims in disbelief. "Hasn't even started school yet! How can you say that he's a 'big boy?'" His voice lowers. "Look, as much as I would like to just toss you out on the street, he needs you. Rory needs his mother."

"Don't try to guilt me out of this," Mummy snaps. "I've made my choice. Rory's strong, he won't die without me."

"You can't do this."

"That's not really up to you, is it?"

* * *

Again, with just as little warning, he's grabbed by the collar and flung face first into a pool of water, and he emerges, panting, in the gray room. The Doctor's nowhere in sight, and when he checks his watch, only a minute or two has passed.

"What the hell was that?" he breathes in disbelief.

He rests his head back against the wall so he can catch his breath and is surprised to find that he's actually tired. He could almost fall asleep like this. In fact, it's not long before he feels his eyes drift shut, and without him even realizing it, he's asleep.

* * *

This time, it's almost like a dream. There's that pulling sensation, and he surfaces in a bed that seems huge, lying on his side and staring up into a set of sad green eyes.

"Are you really leaving?" he asks.

Mummy gives him a sad smile and pushes his hair back from his face. "I'm afraid so," she murmurs.

"Forever?" he whispers.

Mummy bites her bottom lip. "Oh, Rory, baby, I hope not. I promise, I'll be back for your birthday, okay?"

"But that's in like a million years!" he protests desperately. "You can't go away for that long!"

"I wish it wasn't that long," she murmurs. "I wish you could come with me, but you have to stay here with Daddy. It's safer here, and you've got friends."

"I don't want you to go," Rory whimpers, reaching out and wrapping his fingers in the fabric of her shirt, as if holding on will keep her here.

"I know, Rory, sweetheart." She wipes away a tear on his cheek that he hadn't realized was there. "I'm so sorry, baby."

A tear runs down her cheek, and, mirroring her earlier move, Rory brushes it away with his palm. His hand looks so small, resting there on her face, and she turns her head to kiss it gently. "I'll see you again," she promises. "Be good for Daddy, okay?"

He nods, and she bends down to kiss his forehead. "I love you," she whispers.

Again he's pulled forward, but this time, it's into the dark bliss of sleep.

* * *

He awakes as he almost always does—groggy and confused. He pauses a moment so that he can take stock of his surroundings. Gravity tells him he's lying on his side, his face pillowed on something he can't see. There's a gentle touch on top of his head, like someone running their fingers through his hair. He blinks a couple of times so his eyes can adjust to the light.

"Morning, sunshine," murmurs a soft voice. He glances up to see the Doctor looking down at him, Rory's head in his lap.

"When did you get back?" Rory mumbles, still feeling a bit tired.

"Only about ten minutes ago," the Doctor responds. He gently runs his thumb over Rory's temple. "I thought I'd wait for you to wake up before going back out."

For a moment, Rory contemplates sitting up. On the one hand, he's extremely comfortable, and the Doctor doesn't seem to mind. On the other hand, it's a bit awkward to talk like this. Finally, with a grunt, he turns so that he's lying on his back, staring up into the Doctor's face.

"What _was_ that?" Rory asks him.

"I'm guessing you felt that one," the Doctor says with a wry smile. "Or two. I probably should have warned you about that. You'll relive the more powerful memories as I get through them. It's obviously a bit tiring." He gestures toward the way Rory's laid out.

"You can say that again," Rory grumbles.

The Doctor's smile loses its wryness, becomes more genuine. "You'll be fine as long as you get some rest," he promises. He bends and gives Rory a kiss on the forehead. "I should probably get going," he adds in a murmur.

Rory groans and turns his head so that his face is pressed into the Doctor's stomach. "Don't make me get up," he mumbles, his voice muffled through the shirt.

The Doctor chuckles. "Sorry, Rory." He gives Rory a pat on the shoulder. "Come on, now, get up."

With great show, Rory sits up with a grumble. The Doctor gives him a swift kiss, and, before Rory can even get out another word, he's gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Time passes. With each hour that the Doctor's gone, Rory finds that he remembers more and more, though he hadn't even realized that he actually remembered any of it. He wakes up with his head back in the Doctor's lap more than once. They speak little.

Three hours go by, and Rory's alone again. The Doctor's only been gone for about ten minutes or so, but it feels like forever. Wryly, Rory remembers thinking the same thing more than fifteen years ago.

He very nearly groans aloud when he feels that pulling sensation, but then he's standing in his living room, staring up at his father.

"In bed at eight," Dad growls. "Got it? I don't want to come home to see you on the couch watching scary movies."

"I'll be in bed," Rory promises. "Don't worry."

"There's leftover pizza in the fridge," Dad adds. "You know how to heat it up."

Rory nods. "I'll be fine, Dad. Really, don't worry about me."

Dad gives him a small smile and ruffles his hair. "I'm always gonna worry about you, Rory. Now come on, give your dad a hug." He holds his arms out, and Rory quickly wraps his arms around his father's waist. He feels a light pat on his back, and he pulls away.

"Bed at eight," Dad reminds him on his way to the door.

"I know," Rory says with a small roll of his eyes.

"Lock the door behind me!"

"I will, Dad."

"And don't open the door to strangers!"

" _Dad!_ I know!" Rory shakes his head. "I'm seven now. I'm not a little kid."

Dad laughs at that. "Sure, Rory. Whatever makes you happy." And with that, he pulls the door shut. Rory quickly locks the door behind him, then hurries over to the window to peer through. He sees Dad get in the car, hears it rumble to life, and then watches as it putters down the street. He waits until the tail lights disappear. Then he lets the curtains fall and tears through the house to the living room.

Ten minutes later, he's seated on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, eating popcorn and watching the first scary movie he could find.

He's so mesmerized by the movie that when the crash comes, he can't help the little yelp that escapes his mouth. Popcorn goes flying through the air, peppering the ground. For a moment, he sits on the couch, staring in horror at the floor (how in the name of God is he going to clean that up before Dad gets home?), and then he realizes that he should probably be more concerned with what's going on outside.

He glances nervously at the telly. What if it's like the aliens in the movie? Maybe they crashed in his backyard and they're going to turn him into one of them? The man on the screen has a gun in his hand as he goes to approach the aliens. Rory knows that Dad doesn't keep guns in the house, but he does know where he can find a water pistol.

He rushes upstairs to grab it, quickly fills it in the bathroom sink, and then hurries back downstairs. He glances out the window in the back door and swallows hard before unlocking it and slipping into the backyard.

There's smoke coming from where the shed is. Rory walks up slowly, his hand clutched tightly around the water pistol. He steps slowly into the garden...

And sees that the shed has been destroyed. By a large blue box that says "police".

And then a man pops out of the top.

He has wild hair and crazy eyes, and something tells Rory that he's insane, but he can't help taking a step forward. The man doesn't seem to notice him at first. Not until he steps around to the front of the box. Then the man looks at him and asks, "Have you got any apples? It's all I can think about, apples. I love apples. Maybe I'm having a craving! Oh, that's new, never had cravings before."

Rory's not quite sure what to think, so he just stares at the man for a long time, and then asks, "Who are you?"

"Not a clue!" the man grunts as he shoves himself up and hauls himself over the edge of the box. He lands in a clumsy heap on the ground in front of where the shed used to be. His clothes are tattered—his shirt is ripped, his tie is ragged, and his pants have holes in them.

Rory is very confused.

"Are you a policeman?" he asks finally, because it would make sense. How else would he have a box that says 'police' on it?

"No, no, not me." The man shakes his head. "I'm not police, that's ridiculous. I'm the Doctor. Now, do you have any apples?"

"Dad said not to let strangers in the house," Rory says, suddenly recalling that particular fact.

"Am I strange?" the man—the Doctor—asks.

"Yes," Rory answers.

"Good." The Doctor grins. "I would hate to be ordinary. Ordinary's boring. Now I'd really like an apple, if you don't mind."

The man seems harmless enough—you know, except for the broken shed—so Rory leads him inside and he waits patiently enough for Rory to dig an apple out of the fruit basket on the counter. The Doctor takes it, bites in, and promptly spits apple out all over the floor.

"What'd you do that for?" Rory protests. "Now I've gotta clean that up!"

"What is _that?_ " the Doctor demands.

"It's an apple!" Rory exclaims indignantly. "You said you love apples!"

"Nope, apples are rubbish." The Doctor takes a moment to consider something, and then says, "Give me yogurt, yogurt's my favorite."

Yogurt doesn't work either.

So they try bacon, and beans, and bread and butter. Nothing seems to please this man, and Rory pulls the fridge door open with a sigh. "We haven't got much else," he says with a glance back at the Doctor. "There's carrots, but I don't know, you probably won't like those either…"

"Carrots?" The Doctor stares at him like he's mad, though Rory's fairly certain that he's got that backwards. "No, no, hang on, I know what I need." With a light push he gets Rory out of the way and pulls the freezer open. "I need… fish fingers, and custard." He turns and grins.

Soon they're sitting at the kitchen table, Rory eating ice cream and the Doctor digging in to his fish fingers and custard. Rory tries his best to look skeptical, but it's hard not to think that the strange man in his kitchen eating fish custard isn't a little funny, so he can't help the small smile that spreads over his face.

"What?" the Doctor asks indignantly.

"Nothing." Rory wipes at his face hurriedly with the sleeve of his shirt and adds, quickly, "You're just funny, is all."

"Am I?" The Doctor smiles. "Good. Funny's good." He takes another bite of the fish finger in his hand. "So, then, what's your name?"

"Rory," he answers. "Rory Williams."

"Rory Williams." The Doctor says his name like he's trying on a new pair of shoes and needs to know if they'll work or not. "Good name. There are better, but that's a good one. So, Rory Williams, where's your mum and dad?"

"Dad's out," Rory says, hoping he can just avoid the subject of his mum. People at school keep asking questions about his mum. Adam Riley says it's Rory's fault Mum left, because he's weird and she didn't want a weirdo for a son, but everyone knows Adam Riley's just a big bully, so Rory tries not to let it get to him.

"What about your mum?" the Doctor asks.

Rory bites the inside of his cheek before answering quietly, "She left. She lives in London now. I only see her on my birthday."

"That so. Sorry 'bout that." Rory ducks his head and stares into the ice cream, trying to ignore the Doctor's stare. "You're home by yourself, then? All alone?"

"I'm not scared," Rory says quickly. "I was watching a scary movie all by myself and I didn't even get scared."

"No, 'course you're not scared," the Doctor says with a grin. "How old are you, Rory?"

"Seven," Rory answers. He tries to keep the pride out of his voice but he's really very happy. He's only been seven for about a month, but it's ages before most of the other kids at school, so he's older than all of them. Even if they aren't very nice to him, at least he can say he's older.

"Practically all grown up." The Doctor wipes custard off his face. "But come on, then, man in a blue box falls out of the sky, destroys your shed, eats fish custard… Nothing scary about that?"

"I've seen scarier things," says Rory in what he hopes is a worldly tone, like he's seen all sorts of things the Doctor would never believe.

"That so?" The Doctor pops an eyebrow. "Like what, may I ask?"

Rory opens his mouth, but has to pause to think. He's not sure the movie he was watching really counts, because to be honest, it wasn't really that scary at all. It was more silly than anything else. Still, there has to be _something_. And then it hits him.

"The crack in my wall," he blurts, before he can stop himself.

The Doctor looks surprised. "What crack?"

"In my bedroom wall," Rory says, and he tries to hide a blush. When he told Dad about the crack, he'd scoffed and told Rory, "You're seven years old now, you can't be scared of something as silly as a crack in your wall."

"There's a crack in your wall, eh?" The Doctor doesn't look like he's going to tell Rory that it's silly to be scared of a crack. Rory's surprised by that, because when he called Mum on Saturday like he always does, she told him it was silly to be scared of a crack, too, and usually Mum tells him to be brave and stand up to whatever's scaring him. Of course, usually it's just Adam Riley, and not a stupid crack. "What's so scary about the crack, then?" the Doctor asks.

Rory looks down at his ice cream. "Sometimes," he mumbles, "it almost sounds like there's voices coming from it. At night, when no one else is awake, so only I can hear it." He looks up. "It wouldn't be scary if it was in a movie. It's just… it's real."

"Well, then, Rory Williams," says the Doctor, and his grin returns. "Let's go check out that crack, shall we?"

* * *

The Doctor seems to find the crack in his wall extremely interesting. He's got something with a blue light on the end out and is pointing it at the crack. Rory stands back and watches nervously, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What's that you've got?" he asks finally.

"A screwdriver," the Doctor answers.

Rory frowns. "That's not a screwdriver. Screwdrivers have… you know… things on the end."

"This has got a thing on the end!" the Doctor protests, pointing to the blue light.

"Well, yeah, but…" Rory shrugs. "Screwdrivers have different things. Not like that."

"Well, it's sonic," says the Doctor defensively. He seems rather fond of his screwdriver. He turns back to the crack.

"What's that mean?" Rory asks with another frown.

"It makes a noise and…" The Doctor hesitates. "Stuff. It's complicated."

"That's what all the grown-ups say," Rory grumbles as he sits down on his bed. He watches the Doctor for a little longer. Finally, he asks, "Do you know what it is, yet? The crack, I mean."

"It's a solid wall, but the crack doesn't go all the way through," the Doctor muses to himself, ignoring Rory. "Two parts of space and time that should never have touched," he murmurs. He presses his ear to the wall with a frown. "There's a voice on the other side. 'Prisoner Zero—'"

"—has escaped," Rory finishes. "That's what it always says. I dunno what it means, though."

"It means that on the other side of this wall, there's a prison. And they've lose a prisoner." The Doctor glances over at him. "Can you always hear it, Rory?"

Rory shakes his head. "Usually only at night, when no one else is around. Dad didn't believe me when I told him, so I don't say anything about it anymore." He glances past the Doctor to the crack. "He paid someone to come fix it, but it just came back. He thinks I did it."

"Well, there's one thing we can be sure about," the Doctor says as he steps away from the crack. "You most certainly did not do this."

"Can you fix it?" Rory asks him.

The Doctor hesitates, then says, "You know when grown-ups tell you 'everything's gonna be fine', and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better?"

Rory feels a slight spark of fear. "Yeah, why?"

"Everything's gonna be fine." He holds out a hand toward Rory. He hesitates, but takes it. The Doctor's hands are cool and calloused, but at the same time soft, and strong enough to make Rory think that maybe there's a little spark of truth in his statement of "everything's gonna be fine."

The Doctor gently pulls Rory off the bed and behind him, then raises the hand holding the screwdriver, points it at the crack, and presses down a button.

Rory lets out a startled squeak of fear when, suddenly, the crack opens even wider. He clutches the Doctor's hand tighter and the Doctor glances down at him and flashes him a quick smile before turning back to the crack. Well, 'gaping hole' might be more accurate.

"Hello?" the Doctor calls. "Anybody there?"

Suddenly, a large eye appears on the other side of the hole. Rory's eyes widen, and, without thinking, his other hand comes up and clutches at the Doctor's sleeve. The eye stares at them for a moment or two, and then a small light shoots out at the Doctor and the crack seals. The Doctor stumbles and lands on the bed and Rory is pulled with him.

"See?" the Doctor grins. "Told you everything would be fine."

"What was that?" Rory asks fearfully.

"Prisoner Zero's guard, I'm guessing." The Doctor reaches into his pocket to dig something out. "And sent us a message." He holds up a piece of blank paper. "Psychic paper," he says with a grin. He glances at the paper then and frowns. "'Prisoner Zero has escaped.' But why would they tell us that? Unless…"

"Unless what?"

The Doctor glances up. "Unless Prisoner Zero escaped through here."

"Through my room?" Rory asks with wide eyes.

The Doctor ignores the question and steps out into the hallway. "I'm missing something," he murmurs. "Something… In the corner of my eye…" He slowly turns his head…

 _BONG._

Rory jumps, and the Doctor blinks in surprise. The sound comes again.

The Doctor's eyes widen. "No, no, no, no, no!" He turns and races down the stairs. Rory follows as quickly as he can, but it's hard enough to keep up with grown-ups when they're _walking_ , let alone sprinting.

He follows the Doctor all the way out to the backyard. "The engines are phasing!" the Doctor shouts. "I've gotta get back in there or she's gonna blow!" He rushes over to the box that destroyed the shed and starts looking around frantically.

"Engines?" Rory echoes. "How can it have engines? It's only a box, isn't it?"

"No, no, it's much more than that." The Doctor grabs a hose off the ground and throws it over one of the doors to the box, then the other. He looks over at Rory, then. "I'll be back," he promises. "Five minutes. Just five minutes, I promise."

"Can't I come with you?" Rory asks quietly. He doesn't want to stay. Why would he want to stay in Leadworth when he could go with the Doctor? The wild, crazy, exciting, brilliant Doctor.

"No, no, it's not safe yet," the Doctor says with a shake of his head. "Five minutes. I promise, I'll be there."

"That's what Mum said," Rory can't stop himself from mumbling. "About my birthday."

The Doctor hesitates, and then comes over and kneels down in front of him. "Rory Williams," he murmurs. "I will be back. I promise you that. Don't you worry. It'll just be five minutes." He ruffles Rory's hair and then stands up. He climbs up to sit on the edge of the box, glances over his shoulder, gives Rory a wink, and then shouts, "Geronimo!" and plunges into the box. The doors, pulled by the hose, swing shut behind him.

Slowly, with a noise Rory can't describe, the box fades out of view until it's completely gone. Normally, he would be quite astonished, but he's seen so much tonight that he doesn't even bother wasting his time with that. Instead, he sits down with a sigh and waits.


	5. Chapter 5

He's startled out of his sleep by the angriest shout he's ever heard come from his father's voice. _"Rory Thomas Williams!"_

Rory jumps, and his eyes fly open to see his father storming towards him from the direction of the house. "Dad!" he exclaims in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"It's one o' clock in the morning!" Dad rages. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in? I walk in the house, the floor is _covered_ in food. Bits of chewed up apple, yogurt, there's popcorn all over the living room floor! Not to mention the fact that there's a broken plate sitting in the yard, the freezer's hanging open, the ice cream's half melted, there are _fish fingers_ lying in a bowl of custard, and—" He cuts off suddenly, staring at something, his mouth gaping. Rory whips his head around to take in the destroyed shed.

And the distinct lack of a big blue box.

"Where is it?" Rory asks before he can stop himself, utterly confused.

"That's what I would like to know." Dad's voice is dangerously quiet now. "Rory. You had better tell me what happened to the shed _right_ now, or so help me God, you will never see the outside of this house again."

"You'll never believe it," Rory warns his father.

Laughing darkly, Dad says, "Oh, somehow I don't doubt that at all. Explain. Now."

Rory takes a deep breath. Best to just get it over with, he supposes. "I was watching TV in the living room and I heard a crash so I came outside and there was a man in a blue box and the box crashed into the shed and the man asked for an apple so I gave him an apple but he didn't like it so we tried yogurt and then bacon and then beans and then bread and butter but he decided that he wanted fish fingers and custard instead and then I told him about the crack in my wall so he came upstairs to try and fix it and he had a screwdriver and it was sonic and the crack opened up and there was this giant eye and it put a message on the Doctor—that was his name—it put a message on the Doctor's psychic paper and it said 'Prisoner Zero has escaped' and so he was trying to figure out who Prisoner Zero was and where they went and then the box started making this noise and he said that the engines were phasing and he had to fix it or else it would explode and he—" Here, Rory falters. "And he said he would be back in five minutes but he wasn't."

This last part is a mumble, and as he slowly climbs to his feet he looks over at the shed, feeling the most intense feeling of loss and disappointment he's felt in a long time.

When he looks back to his father, Dad has the most incredulous look on his face that Rory's ever seen. Rory's heart sinks even further. He doesn't believe him. That's the same face he had when Rory told him about the voices coming from the crack.

"Just…" Dad swipes a hand over his face. "Just go to bed, Rory. I can't…" He needs the skin on his forehead with the fingers of one hand. "I can't do this right now."

Rory stares at him uncertainly for a moment or two, until he looks up and snaps, "Go, Rory!" and he skittishly hurries up to the house. As he passes his father, Dad whispers, low so that Rory can barely hear him, "What am I doing wrong?"

There's a jolting feeling in Rory's stomach (and somewhere deep inside his mind, he knows that it's not just the turning of memories) and then some invisible force grabs him round the collar and drags him forward into darkness.

* * *

"Rory," Dad says with a small, forced smile, "this is Doctor Adams. He's here to talk to you about… about the shed thing."

Doctor. Talk. Oh great, he's a shrink. Rory stares at the man apprehensively. He's short, balding, wearing an argyle sweater that looks old enough to be in a museum, forcing a smile that seems far too happy for the situation. Rory's already decided he doesn't like him.

"I don't wanna talk to him," he whines, turning his gaze back to his father.

"Rory, he's here to help," Dad pleads. "Just talk to him. Just for a little."

Rory glances over at the doctor (momentarily resents him for not being _the_ Doctor), and then sighs. "Fine," he mumbles. Dr. Adams steps into the room with that stupid smile on his face and glances over at Dad.

"I'll just be downstairs," Dad says awkwardly, and shuffles away.

Dr. Adams watches him go and then turns to Rory and sits down on the bed. "Can I see what you're reading?" he requests politely. He has a voice like sandpaper, rough and low, but kind, too. Silently, Rory passes him his book and Dr. Adams hefts the volume in his hands. He glances at Rory over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. "Bit of a big book for someone so young, don't you think?"

Rory defiantly crosses his arms over his chest. "I can read whatever I want," he grumbles. "Mum told me so."

"I'm sure she did," Dr. Adams murmurs. He flips through the pages, and Rory fights to keep a glare off his face; now he's lost his place. " _The Chronicles of Narnia_ ," he reads, flipping back to the cover. He gives Rory a searching look. "Do you think the wardrobe is real, Rory?"

Rory hates the way he talks to him, like he's stupid just because he's only a kid. "I don't see why it can't be. Just 'cause it's a story doesn't mean it's not real."

"It's only a story, though, Rory." Dr. Adams sets the book down on the bed. "That means it's not real."

"Lots of stories are real." Rory turns his attention to a loose stitch in the comforter. He plays with it with his finger.

"What about this story about… what's his name?"

"The Doctor." Somehow, Rory thinks that he already knew that.

Dr. Adams seems to consider him for a moment. "Was the story about him true?"

"Yes!" Rory snaps, because he knew this was where this was going. "It was true! He was there! Just because no one else saw it doesn't mean I made it up. It's real."

Dr. Adams sighs. "I don't think it is, though, Rory." He reaches out and puts a hand on Rory's shoulder. "Your father is very concerned about you, Rory. First there was the crack in your wall, and now the shed. Your father thinks, and I'm inclined to agree with him, that it was you who did those things."

Rory violently shrugs the doctor's hand off his shoulder and glares openly at him. "You don't know anything," he snaps. "You're not even a real doctor. Real doctors come when there's something wrong, and there's nothing wrong with me!" He stands up abruptly and storms out of his room and down the stairs. He finds Dad sitting on the couch, watching telly, and he rushes over to the couch and wraps his arms around his surprised father's middle. "Make him go away," he mumbles into Dad's stomach.

He hears footsteps behind him and then Dr. Adam's voice, panting and tired from running down the stairs. "Mr. Williams, I—"

Dad rests a hand on Rory's head. "I think you should go," he says coolly. His voice rumbles through his stomach, and Rory feels it where his face is pressed against his father's shirt. Rory turns his head slightly to peek out at Dr. Adams.

The doctor pushes his glasses up his nose and sniffs contemptuously. "Mr. Williams, the actions of your son are a clear cry for attention, probably something to do with the lack of a strong parental role in his life—"

"Get out," Dad snaps abruptly. "And don't you dare tell me how to parent my son."

Dr. Adams mutters something under his breath, and then turns and walks out of the house. Rory feels something grab him and pull him forward into a cool pool of water, and then he knows no more.

* * *

He opens his eyes to the gray room. He feels absolutely exhausted, like he's just been running from a bunch of murderous aliens on a strange planet. He's lying on his side, and he pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, wishing he could just fall asleep, but his mind is racing, filled with too many thoughts to let him slip into sleep.

There's a knock on the door.

Suddenly, Rory's wide awake. His eyes fly open and he pushes himself up on one elbow. He stares at the door, his heart hammering in his throat. He feels so _helpless_ , just lying there on the floor of the gray room, with no way to defend himself from the menace on the other side of the flimsy wooden door.

"Rory!"

A jolt runs through Rory's body, because he _knows_ that voice. He'd know it anywhere. He's been hearing that voice since the day he was born. That's his _father's_ voice.

 _It's a trick,_ whispers a voice in Rory's mind that sounds suspiciously like the Doctor. _It's using a disguise to try and trick its way in. Don't trust it._

Rory takes a deep breath to bring a bit of calm and reminds himself that as long as he doesn't open the door, he'll be fine. The virus won't be able to get in. He just needs to stay where he is and wait for it to go. Then he'll let himself sleep until the Doctor gets back and they'll get through this.

"Rory, please, open up!" There's desperation in the voice that is ( _isn't_ ) his father's. "Please, Rory, help!"

He tries to block it out. He and his father have never been very close (they had that awful row when Rory wanted to keep the house after Dad moved out, and they haven't spoken since), but it doesn't make it any easier to listen to. He tries to take deep breaths and just ignore it.

"Rory," his not-father sobs. "Please, I need your help. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just let me in, I need you."

There's something horribly painful about listening to one's parent cry. For most children, parents are firm, solid rocks. They're laughter and hugs and checking the closet for monsters. They're confidants and advisers and best friends. For most children, they aren't sadness or fear. They're the ones who chase the sadness and fear away, and for most children, when a parent cries, it's a jolting, terrifying experience. It doesn't matter whether the child is three or twenty-three. Hearing sobs punctuate a parent's sentences will put a jolt of fear in any child's heart. Rory is no exception.

The sound of not-Dad's voice has disappeared, replaced completely with sobs and moans of fear and pain. Rory can feel his own throat tightening, tears pricking behind his closed lids.

He's almost grateful when he feels something grab him around the neck and throw him headfirst into another memory.

* * *

The thing about small towns is that people talk. Dad tells somebody at work about Dr. Adams and the shed and the Doctor, and that somebody tells somebody else, and that somebody else tells two somebody else's, and they tell two people, and they all tell two people, and before the week is out, every child will have sat down to dinner to hear their mother or father or both talk about poor Mr. Williams and his destructive son Rory.

The kids at school think it's funny. Rory's short for his age (though Dad promises he'll spring up once he hits puberty, whatever that is), so he's always been a target, but now things are even worse. Adam Riley pushes him around when he's walking home one day and cackles as he asks where Rory's Doctor is, and why he hasn't come to save him yet.

Rory knows the Doctor is real. The memory of that night is as vivid as ever, perhaps even more so, and Rory clings to the hope that the Doctor will show up. Any day now, he promises himself as he sits on a swing at recess one day.

Today is one of the good days. There's a new girl at school. Her name is Amelia Pond and she has _red hair_ and she's _Scottish_ , and her momentary fame is enough to steal the attention away from Rory, which he's perfectly happy with. His only regret is that she looks interesting, and he'd like to talk to her, but Renee Lister roped her into a game of four-square with Jeremy Jefferson and Danielle Watson.

So he sits on the swings and revels in the aloneness and the flight, forward and back. He closes his eyes and listens to the far-off sounds of kids squealing and screeching. He's so involved in the sensation of swinging that he nearly falls off when a voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Hello, there," says a slightly Scottish voice. Once Rory's steadied himself, he opens his eyes to find red-headed Amelia Pond standing in front of him. He slams his feet to the ground to avoid hitting her, skidding slightly.

"Are you mad?" he breathes, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. "I could've hit you!"

"But you didn't," Amelia Pond points out. She holds out a hand. "I'm Amelia Pond."

Tentatively, Rory reaches out his own hand and shakes hers. "I'm—" he starts, but she cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"I already know who you are," she informs him. "Renee and Jeremy and Danielle told me your name's Rory."

 _Oh_. So that's where this is going. Rory glares at her. "Tell Renee and Jeremy and Danielle that if they wanna make fun of the weird kid, they can do it themselves instead of sending the new girl to do it."

Amelia Pond tips her head to the side slightly. "I'm not here to make fun of you," she says like he's said something extremely strange. "I thought you looked lonely. Renee says you don't have any friends."

"Who needs friends?" Rory mumbles. She doesn't seem to hear. He glances up at her, and then stares determinedly down at his trainers. "I suppose they told you that I'm crazy, then?"

"Is it true?" Amelia Pond asks.

"No!" Rory snaps, looking up fiercely. "I'm not crazy! He's real, and the box was real, and all of it was real! Just because some stupid grown-ups tell me it's not real doesn't mean it's not."

"I know that," Amelia Pond sniffs. "Grown-ups are funny. They read you bedtime stories about fairies and princesses and magic, and then they tell you that none of it's real."

It's one of the most brilliant things Rory's ever heard anyone say, and he looks at her in a new light.

"I believe you," she tells him. "How could a kid blow up a shed, anyway? It's the only thing that makes sense."

Rory had known he wanted people to believe him, but he hadn't expected the absolute rush of gratefulness and relief when someone finally did. "Thanks," he mumbles, because he doesn't really know what else to say.

Amelia Pond stares at him for a moment, and then says, "I didn't have many friends back in Scotland, but I did have a best friend named Molly. Molly's not here, though, obviously, so I have to find a new best friend." She eyes him critically. "Wanna be my best friend?"

Rory blinks slowly. "I, uh… Sure."

"Good," says Amelia Pond, and after that, she's just Amelia.

The other kids glare when Amelia and Rory walk into class together after recess, but no one says anything. Amelia demands that Rory share his snack with her, and she sits down next to him during story time, and when they're supposed to be coloring, she leaves her table halfway across the room to ask Rory if he'd like to come over to her house after school. The teacher tells her to go sit down, and she does, but Rory nods at her across the room when she catches his eye a few minutes later.

School ends. Rory collects his things, shoves them in his backpack, and feels his heart pounding in his chest. It's not like he's never been to a friend's house before, it's just that something about Amelia Pond is different and strange and new. She's not Jeremy Jefferson, who lives with his mum and dad and his two older brothers and who let Rory play fetch with his dog the one time he invited him over (that was a while ago, obviously). When they get to her house, he finds out that she's Amelia Pond, who lives with her aunt and doesn't have a mum or dad or siblings, and who has way too many stuffed animals and hates dogs and builds a fort out of sheets with him in her bedroom.

Amelia's aunt calls Rory's dad at work to let him know where Rory is, and at six o' clock, Dad pulls up in the driveway and takes Rory home. He seems happier than usual as he asks Rory about Amelia. He asks what she's like, if she's nice, if she seems upset that she doesn't have a mum or dad, if she likes being an only child. Rory doesn't tell him that she believes him about the Doctor and the blue box. He has a feeling that would only make him angry.

Dad heats up leftover pizza in the microwave for dinner and lets him eat on the couch while they watch telly. He stays up till nine and reads a whole chapter of _The Chronicles of Narnia_ before he falls asleep.

It's the best day of his life, he thinks as his hold on the book slips and his eyes drift shut.


	6. Chapter 6

The hours without the Doctor there pass slowly. Rory tries to find a way to pass the time, but the process of reliving his entire life in the matter of a few minutes—even less than that, he supposes, in real life—makes him so tired that he doesn't do much else other than sleep. He comes to despise the pulling sensation, because he knows what's coming up. He remembers it all—granted, there are a few places where his memory is fuzzy, but for the most part, he knows what's coming. He keeps that knowledge to himself, though, and the Doctor never asks.

Two hours pass. Nothing of much consequence happens during the ninth year of Rory's life, and he ends up reliving almost pointless memories that nevertheless leave him exhausted.

Then he feels that tugging feeling once more, and finds himself sitting on the stairs of the house. He toys idly with the corner of an envelope from his aunt in London, Dad's sister. The note inside the card is the sort of thing relatives always write. _"Happy birthday, you've gotten so big, hope you have a wonderful day blah blah blah"_. Rory doesn't pay it much attention, and instead just tucks the money that was also in the envelope away inside the pocket of his jeans.

He glances up at the door, begging for the doorbell to ring. From the kitchen, Dad calls, "Rory, you sure you wrote the right time on those invitations?"

"Yes," Rory calls back, and feels his heart sink even lower. He glances at the shiny new watch that Dad got him. Almost three. If anyone's coming, and Rory doubts that they are, they're nearly an hour late.

Footsteps on the stairs alert him to Amelia's approach. "Where is everybody?" she demands as she plops down next to Rory. "This is stupid. What good's a party with no one there?"

"They're not coming," Rory sighs. He stares down at the envelope and resists the temptation to just crumple it up and throw it away. "They hate me."

"That's not true!" Amelia snaps angrily. Rory knows how she feels about it. She gets angry whenever Rory puts himself down, but he knows it's true. The other kids don't like him. They think he's weird. They call him names and push him around and steal his stuff. Adam Riley is the ringleader for the physical stuff, like pushing him and knocking him out of the lunch line, but Renee Lister is the one in charge of the name calling.

"They don't hate you," Amelia goes on. "They're jealous of you. Because the Doctor visited you and not them."

"They don't even believe he's real, though!" Rory protests.

Even Amelia can't argue with that one, and Rory knows it. They've had this argument far too many times, and they may have only known each other for a few years, but it feels like a lifetime. Rory knows Amelia better than he knows himself.

For a while, they just sit on the stairs and watch the door, waiting for someone—anyone—to approach. Eventually, Amelia breaks the silence with, "You know, I've been thinking. And I've made up my mind."

Rory recognizes the technique for what it is—namely, a distraction. Nevertheless, he can't help being intrigued. Amelia talks a lot, but it's rarely to just fill the empty air. She almost always has something interesting to say. So Rory gives in. "Made your mind up about what?" he asks.

"I don't want to be called Amelia anymore," she decides firmly. "Amelia's a little girl's name, and I'm not a little girl anymore."

Rory can't help but be a bit amused by it all. "What am I supposed to call you, then?" he asks. "Caitlin?"

Not-Amelia sniffs disdainfully. "Don't be stupid," she snaps. "You're going to call me Amy."

"Amy," Rory echoes, trying out the name. It fits her well enough, he supposes, but he wonders if Amy believes in the Doctor like Amelia did. Then he chastises himself for thinking that. Amelia and Amy are the same person. It's just a different name, not a whole new person.

His thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and his heart leaps into his throat.

"Told you they don't hate you!" Amy crows as they jump off the stairs and rush to the door. Rory pulls it open breathlessly, grinning like a maniac, then—

"Mum!" Before he can stop it, he's throwing himself into her arms and she's laughing loudly. She twirls him around once before placing him back down on his feet. He throws his arms around her waist.

"You're getting huge!" Mum exclaims. She kneels down so she can hug him better. "Happy birthday," she adds, still smiling.

"Dad said you weren't coming!" Rory informs her. He'd all but given up on anyone but Amy coming, had half-expected it to be like any other weekend, with he and Amy running around in the backyard playing make-believe.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to," she says regretfully. "A client cancelled at the last minute, so I thought I'd stop in and see you." She ruffles his hair playfully and glances over his shoulder, and the smile drops. "Thomas."

Rory twists to see Dad standing in the doorway, his face carefully empty of all expression. "Annie," he murmurs. "Thought you weren't coming."

"I—" Mum starts, but Dad raises a hand to stop her.

"Whatever," he cuts in. "Doesn't matter."

Mum looks sad, but she turns her eyes back to Rory as she stands up. "Are you going to introduce your friend?"

"Oh!" Rory quickly glances back at Amy. "Mum, this is Ame—Amy. Amy, this is my mum."

Dad frowns at the new name, but Amy steps forward and politely extends her hand. "Hello, Mrs. Williams."

The corner of Mum's mouth twitches. "Call me Annie," she says. Rory wonders whether it's because 'Williams' isn't her last name anymore, or if she just likes Amy that much.

"So where are all your other friends?" Mum asks, turning her attention back to Rory. He glances over at Amy, who bites her bottom lip.

"I don't think they're coming," Rory mumbles, glancing up at Mum. "They don't… like me very much."

Mum frowns. "Well, why not?"

"Because they're snobs," Amy says before Rory can even open his mouth. "They don't know what they're missing."

Rory looks back thankfully at her, and when he looks up at Mum, she's smiling. Finally, Dad steps away from the door and says, "Come on, Rory, get out of the way so Mum can get in. You and Amel—Amy, go play."

Rory looks up sharply at that, because the only time Dad tries to get him out of the room when Mum's here is when he's mad and they're about to start fighting.

"Come on, Rory." Amy grabs his hand and drags him toward the backyard. He lets himself be pulled along, but he can hear raised voices before they're even out the door.

Other than that brief spat, the day goes fairly well. Jeremy Jefferson shows up—grudgingly—around five, seemingly having been dragged by his mum, who cheerily hands Rory a card and informs Dad that Rory gets 20% off at her clothes shop next door to Clara's mum's diner and then takes off with Jeremy (they never do end up shopping there). Mum leaves after cake and presents, and Amy's aunt shows up around eight to drag her home. She waves over her shoulder as she hops into the car, and Rory smiles slightly.

"Come on, back inside." Dad ushers him back through the door. "Come into the kitchen, I've got something for you."

"Got something for me?" Rory echoes. "But you already got me the watch."

"Yeah, this is special, though." Dad smiles at him. "Go on, into the kitchen, I'll be just a minute. Gotta go get it from upstairs."

Rory's interest is piqued, and he hurries into the kitchen and sits down at the table impatiently. Dad comes in a moment later, carrying a long, skinny box.

"Now, this," he tells Rory as he sits down next to him, "is a very special present. My dad's dad, your great-grandfather, made this himself when he was just a kid, and on my dad's tenth birthday, he gave it to him as a present. Then on _my_ tenth birthday, Granddad gave it to me. So now," he goes on as he slowly lifts the lid off the box, "I'm gonna give it to you."

"What is it?" Rory asks, leaning forward to see. Dad smiles and pulls the lid all the way off and sets it off to the side, then gently pushes back the tissue paper inside to reveal a leather cord necklace with small, painted wooden beads. Rory frowns. "That's it?" The question slips from his mouth before he can stop it, and he blushes immediately after, wishing he could take it back. "I mean—"

Dad laughs. "Don't worry about it," he tells Rory gently. "I said the same thing when Granddad gave it to me." He lifts the cord out of the box and motions for Rory to turn around so he can put it on. "I know it doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot. It's part of being a Williams boy. I wore it every day for ten years, until I married your mum." He fastens the clasp, and then, "There you go. Proper ten year old, now."

Rory reaches up to gently brush his fingers over the worn leather, the chipped paint on the wooden beads, and feels a rush of almost overwhelming love for his father. He twists in his seat and sees that Dad's got a small smile on his face like he's been waiting for this day for his whole life, and Rory tries to think of the future, of fastening the clasp behind the neck of his own son—or daughter, he adds silently—and can't imagine it. It seems like a million years away.

Dad looks surprised when Rory throws his arms around him, but he quickly returns the hug. "Thank you, Dad," Rory mumbles against his father's shirt.

He can feel Dad's smile against his hair. "You're welcome," he murmurs back.

* * *

It's three weeks exactly after Rory's birthday that Adam Riley becomes a problem.

They're out on the playground, and Rory's got a bandana tied around his eyes while Amy scolds their friend Mel for getting in trouble again. Rory's trying desperately to tag them, but doing an awful job of it. Eventually, he gets fed up with walking around blindly and calls out, "Am I getting close yet?"

"Yes, Rory," Amy calls back, and then goes back to her conversation with Meg. Rory tries not to feel too annoyed. Meg transferred to their school only just recently, so she doesn't really know how things work. She's not even _at_ school, half the time. She's always skipping, or missing for silly things.

With a sigh, Rory gives up on the game and reaches up to pull the bandana off, only moments before he feels a rough shove against his back and falls hard to the ground.

With no way of seeing the ground rushing up, he only just barely manages to get his hands underneath him. Regardless, he feels the hard, cold concrete scrape against his palms, knees, and cheek.

"Oh, sorry, Williams, didn't see you there," says a sneering voice.

Rory bites his lip to distract himself from the stinging, and slowly turns around so that he's sitting down so he can take off the bandana. As soon as he's sitting, though, a foot plants itself on his chest and he's pushed backwards.

"Not going somewhere, are you?" asks the same voice.

"Get off me, Adam," Rory grunts as he tries to push Adam's foot off his chest. It isn't budging.

"Hey, Adam!" shouts Amy from off to the side. "What do you think you're doing?"

Suddenly, the weight is gone from his chest, and he sits up quickly and tears the bandana off just in time to see Amy and Meg stalking toward Adam. Amy drops to her knees next to him to make sure he's okay, but Meg's eyes spark with anger and she shrieks, "I'll fucking kill you!"

Rory's eyes widen in shock at the word—and at what Meg does next. She leaps at Adam, knocks him backwards, and straddles him with one knee on either side of his chest. Then she starts _pounding_ him, landing solid punches on his face every time.

"Meg, no!" Amy groans, even as a teacher is rushing over and pulling Meg off of Adam.

"What do you think you're doing?" the teacher demands. "Language like that, _and_ fighting! And just after you finished talking with the principal! We'll see how your parents like this!"

Meg laughs at that, like it's the funniest thing in the world. It's a cruel, dark laughter, and it chills Rory to the bone to hear someone laugh like that. He and Amy exchange a look of slight surprise.

They don't hang out with Meg very much after that.

* * *

Rory's twelve the first time he hears it. The bell's just rung to let them out of school, and he and Amy rush down the stairs in excitement. The sooner they get to Rory's the sooner they can play. Rory's backpack bounces on his back as he races after Amy through the crowd of students rushing forward to get away from school.

He loses Amy for a second, and he's so distracted with trying to find her again that he almost doesn't noticed when he gets pushed—hard—and falls.

He can't miss the familiar feeling of concrete biting into his knees and palms, though. He hears the sneering voice and knows who it is without looking up. "Where you going, Rory?"

"Let me go, Adam," Rory mumbles. He doesn't want to do this. Not today.

Adam laughs. "Going to see your boyfriend, Rory?" His pack laughs along with him.

"Leave him alone, Adam," comes a cold voice, and Rory looks up to see Amy walking over, hands in fists.

Adam rolls his eyes. "You could be so cool, Amy. If only you didn't hang out with someone so…" He looks over at Rory and sneers, and then calls him something that Rory's never heard before.

Amy's eyes widen and she lets out an indignant noise. "You stupid little snot!" she shrieks. "How dare you?" She grabs a stick off the ground and pelts it at Adam's head. Nearly hits him, too, but he dodges out of the way at the last moment and takes off running, with his pack right on his heels.

Amy stomps over to Rory and helps him up, still looking furious. "I can't believe him!" she snarls. "I'll kill him, I swear!"

"Just let it go, Amy," Rory tells her quickly. He doesn't tell her that she really needs to stop beating people up for him. Ever since the thing with Meg, the teasing's only gotten worse, and she's making him look like a girl.

The whole way home, Amy won't shut up about it. Rory doesn't know what the word Adam called him means, but he's not about to let Amy know that. It's an insult—that much he can tell from Amy's furious expression.

"You know what my aunt would call him?" Amy rages. "A close-minded snob! All the people in this town have spent so long wrapped up in their little bubble that it's absolutely inconceivable that anyone could be different from them at all!"

Rory's a bit surprised that she knows what 'inconceivable' means.

Amy looks over at him like she's expecting him to say something. "Aren't you angry?" she demands.

"Of course I am!" Rory answers quickly, covering his tracks. "But there's nothing we can do about it now, is there? Just let it go, Amy, really."

A bit grudgingly, Amy does so. They manage to make it through the rest of the day without a single mention of the word, much to Rory's relief. At five-thirty, Dad gets back from work and tells Amy that she needs to go home. With a wave, she tells Rory she'll see him tomorrow and skips off down the sidewalk. She ignores the fact that she hasn't helped Rory clean up at all. Rory ignores the fact that she's ignoring it.

But his mind is still burning with the need to understand, the need to know. It's so distracting that he barely even picks at his dinner. Eventually, Dad looks up at him and demands, "Why aren't you eating?"

Rory glances up, then looks back down at his plate. "Can I ask you a question?" he asks softly.

"You just did," Dad points out, but he nods. "Yeah, sure, Rory, anything. You know you can always ask me whatever you need to know."

Rory pushes a piece of broccoli around on his plate for a moment. Finally, he asks, "What does 'gay' mean?"

After dinner, he rushes upstairs, filled with shame. Because he hadn't realized there's something wrong with it. Because just the other day he and Amy were agreeing that the new boy in class is kind of cute.


	7. Chapter 7

Rory wakes with a jolt, an inexplicable panic settling in as his hands suddenly go clammy. Something feels wrong, he realizes, and he hastily shoves himself up into a sitting position, his back pressed against the wall. The Doctor's not there, but Rory wasn't really expecting him to be.

He tries to calm his breathing enough that he can listen for the sound of knocking, but there's nothing. With a relieved sigh that's half a sob, he lets his head fall back against the wall.

The virus is stupid, that much is a relief. The Doctor explained to him, while they were both trying to recover after Rory's rocky seventh year of life, that it could see all the same memories they could, but it couldn't get at them. It makes Rory think of a little kid, tall enough to see the cookie jar sitting on top of the counter, but just short enough that he can reach it, and there's nothing around for him to boost himself up with. The Doctor then went on to explain that it's through the memories it sees that the virus picks the people it uses to try to trick Rory into opening the door.

The thing is utterly  _stupid_ , though. It's only picked two people who've managed to get at Rory at all – Mum and Dad. But other than them, it's picked Mels (which,  _no_ ; if anything, that only served to push him further away from the door) and Adam Riley (which is possibly an even worse choice than the first, though neither the virus nor the Doctor knows that).

Rory keeps waiting for it to use Amy, but it doesn't. He wonders if it's so thick that it doesn't realize who she is, or maybe the name change confused it – the switch from Amelia to Amy.

He tries to close his eyes, to let himself rest a bit, but he's in that weird state of tired where you're so exhausted that you can't fall asleep. Eventually he admits failure and gets up to stretch his legs.

He's probably walked about a mile in laps around the tiny gray room when the door opens. Rory always tenses when it does. He's constantly expecting the virus to come in (he's not sure what it looks like, but he pictures it like a menacing cloud of black with a jagged purple smile and never-ending pits for eyes) whenever the door opens, but this time, just as every time before, it's not.

The Doctor looks more tired than any of the previous times, and his knees give out before he's even all the way inside. Surprising himself with his speed, Rory just barely manages to catch him before he can crumple completely to the ground and pulls him away from the door so he can close it firmly.

Slowly, he lowers the Doctor to the floor, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. The Doctor lets out a faint groan and presses the palms of his hands to his eyes. Rory just hovers anxiously, not knowing what else to do.

"Don't worry about me," the Doctor croaks out. "Just need a minute."

"Right, of course," Rory responds automatically. To himself, he thinks that the Doctor needs more than just a minute—he needs a whole _year_.

Finally, the Doctor lowers his hands from his eyes and cracks his neck. Then, like that's all he needed, he hops up to his feet. "Right, then, best be back at it," he says. His voice is too cheerful, just a shade too high. He sways a bit on his feet.

Rory's hand flashes out and latches onto the hem of the Doctor's sleeve. With surprising strength (maybe to match his surprising speed from before), he pulls the Doctor back down, and the ever-so-graceful Time Lord lands heavily in a heap on the floor next to him.

"Rory!" he protests, and Rory just fixes him with a flat glare.

"You're not going anywhere," he informs the Doctor. "You're practically dead on your feet. Even you've got to slow down and get some sleep every now and then."

"Maybe if we were in the real world, yes." The Doctor grimaces, like he didn't want to admit that, but had no other choice. "But we're not. We're inside your head." He shakes his own—shaggy-haired—head. "This is all just mental exertion. About the equivalent of trying to build a TARDIS from scratch. I'll be fine once I'm back in my own body."

Rory doesn't like the sound of that, but he's not willing to give in just because the Doctor tells him to. "Doesn't change the fact that you're staying till you've gotten some rest," he shoots back, and the Doctor frowns at him, but he doesn't back down.

Finally, the Doctor sighs and grumbles, "Oh, all right." Rory tries not to grin triumphantly at his success.

The feeling doesn't last long, though. They've barely been sitting there five minutes when there's a hollow knocking sound from the other side of the door.

"Oh, God, no," Rory groans, a helpless, desperate feeling rising up inside him. He buries his face in his hands. He doesn't want to deal with this anymore. He wants the goddamn virus to find someone else to terrorize. He doesn't want to be afraid of forgetting everything – Mum, Dad, Amy, the Doctor, all those people in his life. He doesn't want to be afraid of  _dying,_  and then figures that's pretty hypocritical of him, considering who he runs around with and what they do.

"Ignore it," the Doctor orders. He's sitting with his head resting against the wall, the picture of serenity and calm. Rory doesn't understand how it could possibly  _not_  scare him. The thing on the other side of the wall could  _kill_  him.

"Isn't there a way to get rid of it?" Rory asks hopelessly. He just wants it to go away.

The Doctor shakes his head without opening his eyes. "No. You just have to wait it out, Rory, I'm sorry. If there were any other way, believe me, I would tell you."

"Rory?" calls a voice from the other side of the door, and Rory's blood runs cold.

 _Well,_  he supposes in the back of his mind,  _it's finally figured out Amy, then._

"Rory, are you there?" the virus calls in Amy's voice, and Rory feels an inexplicable rage he hadn't felt in accompaniment to any of the others. This is  _Amy_ , he thinks. This is  _his_  Amy,  _his best friend_. He wants that thing to drop her voice, to go back to knocking. He'd rather it was his mother's voice, his father's, hell, even Adam Riley's, than Amy's.

It doesn't just make him angry. It makes him ache for home.

After a few minutes of the virus's whining, begging, and pleading, Rory realizes, with a jolt, that it's not  _Amy's_  voice, technically. It's Amelia's—the little girl who sat with him on the swing set and had play dates with him even though all her friends told him he was weird. It makes him feel sick, like he's about to lose his lunch. Hearing Amelia's voice is even worse than Amy's.

"Ignore it," the Doctor repeats, like he knows what Rory's thinking, like he knows that the fact that it's Amelia's voice, the last remnant of Rory's childhood, is tearing Rory up inside.

But he tries. He really does. It aches, it  _hurts_ , to ignore that voice, especially once she starts crying – because they  _always_  cry – but he knows he has to ignore it. He has to stay away from it. He drops his face into his hands and stuffs his fingers in his ears and tries to pretend it's just not there.

At some point, the Doctor slides up next to him and slips an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close and resting his chin on top of Rory's head. He lets the Doctor rock him slowly back and forth until eventually, his eyes begin to slide shut and he drifts off to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it's because he's being pulled into yet another memory.

* * *

They're thirteen and Amy is skipping her French class to sit with Rory, who has a different lunch than she does. With a school as small as theirs, one wouldn't imagine that there would even be a need for separate lunches, but that's not really up to them.

"What happened to your face?" Amy asks when she walks up and plops down next to him at his lonely, empty lunch table.

Rory grimaces and rubs at his eye, even though it aches when he touches it. "You know, the usual."

Amy scowls in his direction. "I'll rip off his—"

" _Amy_."

"Well, he's a coward!" she snaps. "He can't just politely disagree, he's gotta harass you and be stupid about it. He just… ugh!" She crosses her arms over her early-bloomer chest – not that Rory's really paid attention, to be honest. He's spent too much time trying very hard to ignore the fact that Jeremy Jefferson, despite his complete lack of attention in Rory's direction, is being treated very,  _very_  well by puberty. Not that he's really paid attention, of course.

"There's nothing to disagree on," Rory mumbles, but Amy doesn't seem to really notice. She's too caught up in her tirade.

"Then again," she says, "even if he did just politely disagree, he'd still be a stuck-up snob. If he can't accept people who are even a little different from him, then he really doesn't deserve to even live on this planet."

"Amy, that's horrible!" he protests. Okay, so he doesn't exactly  _like_  Adam Riley (no one does, even though the popular kids won't admit it), but that doesn't mean the guy deserves to  _die_.

"It's true!" Amy ducks suddenly as a teacher passes by, and then waits for Rory's casual hand signal before she pops back up. With a sigh, she admits, "Maybe you're right. Either way, if he hits you again, I'm gonna rip off his testicles and feed them to the slugs we're raising in biology."

"Amy, no one says  _testicles_." Rory makes a face. "And what kind of biology class raises slugs?"

"Remedial biology," Amy says with a shrug.

Rory gives her a flat look. "Maybe if you actually showed up to class there wouldn't be this issue with you having to take remedial biology, yeah? Like right now, don't you have a test in French?" He'd heard a couple other kids in one of his earlier classes talking about it.

"That's  _why_  I'm skipping, stupid." Amy shakes her head.

"You're gonna fail French just like you failed biology," he informs her, but she just smirks.

"Please," she says with one of her patented Amy Pond looks. This one Rory knows well. It's  _'I'm Amy Pond and I get what I want'_. "I'm Amy Pond. I get what I want," she says.

"Your teacher's a woman," he points out. It's easy for Amy to charm the male teachers – they all either are afraid of her or think she's little-kid-cute. But the female teachers are wary of her, with the exception of the ancient librarian, who's let Amy and Rory hide out in her office on more than one occasion while waiting for Adam Riley and his groupies to clear out so they can get home safely.

Amy waves a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter, she loves me. She's like thirty and it's her first year teaching. We all get away with everything."

Rory just sighs, "You should really go before someone catches you. You really can't be getting in trouble all the time like this. Your aunt's gonna get mad."

"Ha! She never gets mad at me."

"Lucky," Rory grumbles, thinking of his own dad and how angry he got the one time Rory got in trouble. "But seriously,  _go_."

"You're no fun anymore," Amy groans. Then she leans over and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later, yeah? We're going to your house?"

"Don't we always?" Rory points out, which just earns him an eye roll and a wave over the shoulder as she stealthily slips out of the lunch room. After that, it's just Rory at the big round table, and he sighs and turns to his backpack to do homework.


	8. Chapter 8

Rory surfaces next on his first day of high school. He stands next to Amy with the building looming over them. He suddenly feels five years old all over again, standing in front of the elementary school and clutching his father’s hand. The only difference now is that Dad’s at work and it’s Amy whose hand he’s holding.

“Bigger than I expected,” he says nervously.

Amy rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a baby, Rory.” Despite her words, though, she squeezes his hand reassuringly and gives him a smile.

“Yeah, don’t be a _baby,_ Ro- _ry._ ” The hand that comes up to shove Rory to the side is a by-now familiar one. Rory winces as he stumbles over his own feet and knocks into Amy.

“Watch it, Riley,” Amy snaps, shooting a glare at Rory’s lifelong tormentor as he passes by.

“What?” Adam Riley spreads his hands wide in front of him, a cheeky grin on his face. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You did push a girl, Adam,” points out one of his posse members, someone whose name Rory can’t remember for the life of him.

Amy looks as confused at that statement as Rory feels. “He didn’t push _me,_ though.”

The other kid smirks. “Exactly.”

Adam laughs – one of those powerful laughs where the head is thrown back and the shoulders shake, hands stuffed in pockets. “Good one, man,” he says with a shake of his head. He smirks at Rory as he and his posse head up the stairs to the main doors to the school. “See you later, girly.”

Rory keeps a tight grip on Amy’s hand to prevent her from running after them. “It’s not worth it,” he mumbles to her as they start their own ascent.

“I _will_ teach him a lesson one of these days,” Amy swears, slipping her arm through his. “That jerk’s not gonna get away with this forever, Rory. I won’t let him keep doing this to you.”

Rory sighs. “Amy, really, don’t. I’d rather you _not_ get in trouble today. Or, you know, at all.”

“Right, like _that’s_ gonna happen.”

At least she’s being sarcastic again. That’s how he knows she’s not stuck on the Adam thing still – because instead of cursing, she’s just trying to poke fun at him. Which, honestly, he likes better than her threats of violence against Adam Riley. As much as he dislikes the guy, he doesn’t really want anything bad to happen to him. And he certainly doesn’t want _Amy_ to be the one doing it, considering her track record with getting away with things.

“Just try, okay?” he begs, shooting her a pleading look with fully puppy dog eyes and little pout. “For me? Someone’s gotta protect me at lunch, right?”

Amy sighs dramatically. “Oh, all right.” She nods to a classroom up ahead of them. “That’s my homeroom.” She gives him a peck on the cheek and asks, “See you later?”

“Of course,” he promises, and then smiles as she walks away.

New school, he tells himself as he turns to start down the hall to his own homeroom. _New teachers, new people. Well, some new people. Make today good – no, scratch that. Make the rest of this_ year _good. Don’t mess this up for yourself._ He takes a deep breath as he reaches the door to his classroom, then turns the handle and steps inside.

Unsurprisingly, making today good doesn’t come easy.

“What the hell happened to you?” Amy demands as she bursts into the boys’ bathroom after fourth period, just before lunch.

“Amy,” he hisses, turning away from his attempts at picking peaches out of his hair. “You can’t be in here!” Indeed, the two other boys in the bathroom at the moment are staring at Amy like they’ve never seen a girl in their lives, their eyes wide, their jaws hanging open a little.

Amy shoots them each a glare. “Get out,” she snaps, and they quickly finish washing their hands and scurry away. Once the door has swung shut behind them, Amy turns to look at Rory and crosses her arms over her chest. “What happened?” she asks again.

“Adam and I had a little discussion in the hallway on the way to lunch,” Rory mumbles. He turns back to the mirror and scowls. His hair, his clothes, his backpack; they’re all covered in food. He groans aloud – he’s _never_ going to get all this out.

Amy comes up behind him and gently pushes his hands down from his hair. “Let me do this,” she says quietly. “Not like it’s the first time.”

He doesn’t protest, just stands there silently until she’s done the best she can with his hair. She looks mournfully at his shirt, which is wet and sticky with juice from the peaches. “I don’t know there’s much I can do with your clothes. You wanna run home and change? We’ve got fifth period together, I checked. I can cover for you.”

“No point in being late the very first day.” Rory picks regretfully at his shirt. He _liked_ this shirt. “And I told you, I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna get in trouble when _you’re_ the one sneaking off campus.”

“I’d ask if you wanna just skip the rest of the day,” he says dryly, “but I’m afraid you’d say yes, and then I wouldn’t be able to back out.”

She snorts. “Like I’d ever let you back out of an offer like _that._ ” She smooths down his shirt over his shoulders. “You sure you don’t wanna go change?”

“Only three classes left,” he says with a shrug. “Not much point.”

“Maybe,” she says quietly. She meets his gaze in the mirror and gives him a small smile, which he returns.

To be honest, it could be worse, and he knows it. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it could. Sure, it’s a _pain_ that Adam Riley won’t leave him alone, and yes, he’s damn tired of constantly being cornered out in hallways and having lunches thrown at him, but that’s all it is. That and a little name-calling. There are kids out there who’ve got it worse, so Rory’s not complaining. Especially because he knows that if he even sounded like he was complaining, Amy would have Adam Riley on his back with her hands around his throat before he could blink. So he’s keeping his mouth shut and dealing with it. It could be worse.

“Hungry?” Amy asks, and he nods enthusiastically, so she laughs and helps him get his backpack back on and leads the way out of the bathroom. They get a few weird looks from a group of kids standing by their lockers (probably because of the rumors and the names he’s spent the past few years being called), but Rory ignores them as Amy slips her arm through his again. It’s times like these, he thinks, that being Amy Pond’s best friend really pays off.

\---

The Doctor comes back quiet and somber after a few more incidents like that. The virus has stayed away, and Rory’s tried to sleep, but no matter what he does, he keeps waking up with pounding headaches, and even worse, he’s still exhausted.

The Doctor sits down next to him, looking like he hasn’t slept in years, which, well, Rory doesn’t know that the Doctor even does sleep. He is an alien, after all, and Rory can’t say that he’s ever heard the Doctor say anything about catching a nap or getting some sleep. The point is, though, that the last time Rory saw someone look that tired was back before the Doctor came and scooped him into the TARDIS and they took off ( _the whole of time and space, where do you want to start?_ ), back when he was working at the hospital and everything was as normal as it could get for him.

He supposes he probably doesn’t look much better.

They sit in silence for a while, the Doctor eventually slipping an arm around Rory’s shoulders and pulling him close. It should be comfortable, but it’s not. It worries him, this silence. The Doctor is a never-ending noise machine, and while most of the time Rory finds himself groaning and begging him to shut up, now is… different. The Doctor isn’t just quiet, he’s _thinking._ Most likely, thinking those kinds of thoughts that make other people stop dead in their tracks and stare in astonishment when spoken out loud.

“It gets worse, doesn’t it?” the Doctor asks bleakly.

Rory doesn’t even try to pretend. He’ll find out soon enough. “Yes.”

“A lot worse.”

“Yes.”

The Doctor sighs and drops his head onto Rory’s shoulder. “I probably should have known that.”

“Probably.” Rory tries for cheery, but just comes off sounding like he’s in pain.

They don’t say much more after that.

\---

In the beginning of sophomore year, Adam Riley and his gang find a new way to torment Rory. Almost none of the high schoolers in this town have a car, including Rory, which makes it extremely easy for them to corner him on his way to school, peddling hard on his bike.

For the entire first semester and well into the second, the little group makes sure to corner him every day, grinning wickedly as they grip him, unsuspecting, by the shoulders and haul him down to the pavement, only to leave him with no money and a few bruises maybe a minute later. Amy’s taken to stealing ice from the cafeteria for him to press to his face, arms, wherever he happened to land that particular day.

On the morning of Amy’s sixteenth birthday in early March that year, Rory’s packing up his messenger bag and anxiously glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall when the honk of a car draws his attention away.

When he peers out through the window, there’s a bright red car sitting in the driveway.

With a frown, Rory pulls his bag over his shoulder and steps outside. Amy’s leaning against the side of the car, inspecting her nails with a frown. The sound of the front door closing behind him makes her look up, and she grins brilliantly. Stepping to the side, she gestures widely to the car with her arms and says, “Isn’t it great?”

“Is that a car?” Rory asks, eyes wide. He stumbles down the couple steps from his house to the sidewalk.

Amy snorts. “No, it’s a jet plane. What does it look like, Rory?”

“But…” Rory looks from the car to Amy. “What’s it doing here?”

“Well.” Amy draws out the word, still grinning. “ _Someone_ turned sixteen today and her aunt got her a car for her birthday, so now that someone is giving you a ride to school.”

“But why?” It may not be the most intelligent question he’s ever asked, but later, he’ll tell himself it was justified. He’s a little stunned right now.

“Well, for one, so you don’t get cornered by those assholes again.” Amy’s eyes soften, and her smile grows fonder. “And also because you’re my best friend.”

Rory’s crossing the space between them in less than a second and pulling Amy into a rough hug. She hugs him in return, her arms tight across his back. He can feel her smile where it presses into his shoulder through his shirt. “Happy birthday,” he mumbles against the side of her head. She laughs and pulls back.

“Come on, slowpoke, get in the car. We’ve gotta get to school. I’d hate to be late.” She shoots him a wink and slides around to the other side of the car and gets in. Rory’s suddenly extremely nervous. Amy’s not exactly known for her superb driving skills.

She leans over toward the passenger window, raising an eyebrow. “You getting in?”

“Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?” Rory asks skeptically. “I’d really like to avoid any sort of serious injury today.”

Amy snorts. “Oh, please. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“The last time anyone let you drive, you nearly took out Mrs. Hudson’s mailbox.”

“That was one time!” Amy scowls at him. “Just get in the car. Unless you’d rather walk to school.”

Okay, he can’t argue with that one. Still, it doesn’t stop him from grumbling to himself as he slips into the passenger seat. He pointedly buckles his seatbelt with a glare at Amy, and she rolls her eyes and pulls out of the driveway. Rory clings to the door for support.

“Don’t be a wimp, Rory,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Eyes on the road!”

“I am an _excellent_ driver, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sniffs and wildly takes the corner. Rory clenches his eyes shut.

“Just don’t kill us. I really don’t care as long as you don’t kill us.”

“Baby,” Amy grumbles, but she does slow down a bit. She even stops at all the stop signs.

They’re nearly to school when she asks, “So what’d you get me?”


	9. Chapter 9

Two months before his sixteenth birthday, Rory sits in homeroom and doodles a police box on the inside of his notebook. He tries to ignore when the door opens and Jeremy Jefferson and his posse walk in, though it’s hard to ignore people so loud. Especially when Jeremy himself is so –

No. He’s not even going to _pretend_ to entertain that thought.

“So how long will you be here?” he hears Renee Lister ask.

“I’m not sure. My dad’s waiting to see how the new job works out. Could be forever. I dunno.”

Rory’s surprised by the new voice, and not just because it’s new. Because it’s _American._ There’s a girl he’s never seen before, nestled in a seat behind Renee and next to Jeremy, who’s eyeing her up and down appreciatively. She has a small, almost nervous smile on her face, and she’s wearing a tight pink t-shirt and jeans. Long blonde hair flows down her back and over one shoulder. For a moment, their eyes catch across the room, but she quickly looks away, blushing slightly.

“You should come with us to my mom’s diner,” Renee suggests. “We hang out there every day after school.”

The girl looks so desperately grateful for acceptance, though Rory doesn’t think any of the others notice. As it is, she just nods quickly and Rory turns his attention back to shading the corner of the police box in his notebook.

“Still making shit up, Ro- _ry?_ ” The cover of his notebook is flipped shut on top of his hand, forcing his pen in a rough streak directly through the middle of the drawing. _Damn_ it. He was liking that one, too. He’d even thought of adding the Doctor on the side. Jason Myers sneers down at him. Another one of Adam’s, desperate for his leader’s approval. So desperate that he’s willing to go after Rory when Adam isn’t even in the room.

Rory doesn’t even have the will to defend himself, so he just pulls his hand out from under the cover his notebook and sighs. “Hello, Jason.”

“Hello, Ro- _ry,_ ” Jason mocks him, and then starts to stalk over to his usual seat, frowning when he sees the new girl there.

She looks up at him nervously. “I’m sorry, is this your seat?”

Jason’s eyes flick up around the room, and Rory follows his gaze. By now, all of the seats have filled up – all, of course, except for the one behind Rory. He has a sudden sinking feeling that this is not going to go in the way he wants it to.

Jason looks back to the new girl and puts on his most charming smile. Trouble is, unlike Adam, it’s the kind of smile that might actually be charming, if he wasn’t such a dick.

“Normally it is, yeah,” he says to the girl with a shrug. “But considering your only other option is to sit behind Williams, I think I’ll spare you this time.” And with that, he gives the girl a wink and walks back to the seat behind Rory, plopping down and putting his feet up on the back of Rory’s chair. Rory tries to pretend he’s not there.

\---

“I’m sorry,” Amy says, looking sadly at the ruined drawing. The line of black ink is smudged from when Rory pulled his hand away, further damaging what could have been a great drawing (or at least, Rory thinks so).

“Me too,” Rory grumbles. He shoves his sandwich into his mouth and is grateful, not for the first time, that it’s sunny enough for them to sit outside. The sun feels great on his face, and Adam Riley is almost always inside during lunch, prowling for unprepared freshmen with heavy pockets.

Amy closes the notebook and pushes it back towards him. Through a bite of apple, she asks, quietly, thoughtfully, “You still think about him, then.”

Rory glances down at the notebook, flips idly through the pages with his thumb. The one he’d started in homeroom isn’t the only one like it. There are dozens more in the notebook, a Christmas present from Amy. He doodles in his spare time – when he’s waiting for Amy to pick him up in the morning for school, during class when they’re not doing anything else, at night when he’s lying in bed and can’t fall asleep. And almost every one of the doodles have the phone box or the Doctor (or both) nestled in somewhere on the page.

“Yeah,” he admits, though he doesn’t want to say it. He’s not seven anymore, for god’s sake. He doesn’t want it going around that he still thinks about it. It was kind of a big deal when he was a kid.

Amy sips at her soda, studying him silently for a moment. When she speaks, she sounds almost sad. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. He was a big part of your life. You’re allowed to.”

“Not according to everyone else at this school.” Suddenly not even wanting the notebook in his sight, Rory grabs it and slips it into his backpack.

Amy huffs. “Yeah, well, everyone else at this school is an idiot. They won’t even let you be –”

“Amy, no.” Rory cuts her off with a sharp look. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, and it won’t be the last.

Her eyes flare with indignation. “I wouldn’t mention it if you’d just _admit_ it.”

“There’s nothing to admit!” Rory pushes what’s left of his sandwich back into the brown paper bag he’d shoved food in this morning before leaving. “Amy, honestly, I’m not…” He trails off, not wanting to say it out loud and attract unwanted attention.

“See?” Amy challenges him, like that just makes his case right there. “That’s how bad the kids at this school are. They’ve messed with you so much you can’t even _say_ it.” There comes a laugh from Jeremy Jefferson’s table. Amy looks disgusted, and turns her head to glare in their direction. “God, I _hate_ them.”

“Amy, drop it,” Rory snaps, and, for once, she does, instead turning back to her tiny lunch and stewing silently to herself.

They’ve had this argument a million times before, and Rory’s answer remains firmly the same. He’s not gay. He’s never been gay, and no matter what Amy and every other kid at this school thinks, he never will be. He likes to tell himself he doesn’t care what people think, but he does, and the fact that everyone in his life seems to think he’s gay hurts more than he’d like.

His eyes catch on Jeremy with his head thrown back, laughing, and he tries very hard not to reevaluate that assumption.

\---

He's sitting high in the tree in the backyard, trying to focus on Dickens, but all he can see is squiggles and dots. With a groan of frustration, he renews his attack, thinking to himself, _I_ will _get through this book._

"Rory Williams!"

The shout startles him so much that he drops the book and nearly falls out of the tree. He reaches out to grab a nearby branch just in time to steady himself and looks down to see Amy Pond reach up and catch his book.

"Amy!" he complains. "Could you not do that to me? I swear, you're going to kill me one day."

Amy is glaring at him and completely ignoring everything he says. "You have some explaining to do," she informs him, hands on hips. "Did you or did you not snog Jeremy Jefferson at Renee Lister's party?"

"W-what?" Rory splutters in disbelief. "Why the hell would I snog Jeremy Jefferson?"

Amy gets a foothold on the trunk and hauls herself upwards into the tree. She sits down heavily on a branch above Rory, crosses her arms over her chest, and glares at him. "Renee told me that she saw you snogging him."

"I did not snog Jeremy Jefferson," Rory snorts. "And Renee Lister is an empty-headed bimbo obsessed with her stupid rumor mill, which, lately, by the way, seems to revolve completely around me."

Amy waves her hand dismissively. "It's always revolved around you.” She pauses. “I knew you didn't snog him anyway.”

“Then why’d you ask?” Rory demands, frustrated.

She shrugs. “To mess with you. Anyway," she continues, narrowing her eyes, "the real question is, why _didn't_ you snog him?"

Rory blinks at her. "You have got to be kidding."

"Not at all." Amy hands him back his book, which he takes gratefully. "I'd snog him. He's hot. And don't tell me you haven't noticed," she adds with a scathing look.

"I don't know why I would be looking in the first place," Rory says with a roll of his eyes. He opens the book again and tries to find the spot where he'd left off.

Amy just stares at him flatly. "Rory."

"What?" Rory asks, not looking up.

"When are you going to admit it?"

Oh. That again. Rory rubs the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. "Amy, please, don't."

"I don't see why it even matters. I mean, I don't care. I've known since we were kids. It's kind of obvious."

"Seriously, Amy, stop it."

"There's nothing wrong with being--"

"Amy!" Rory shuts the book with a loud snap and glares at her. "For the thousandth time, I'm not gay. Got it?"

"Could've fooled me," Amy sniffs disdainfully. "Why do you try to hide it? What's the point? I wouldn't mind if you'd just admit it already.”

"Amy, I'm not gay!"

"Is it because of the kids at school? Because pretending you're not isn't helping anything. They all pretty much know.”

“Amy!” He doesn’t mean to, really, but he chucks the book at her anyway. She catches it easily, which only makes him angrier, but she seems to get the point and shuts her mouth. “I’m not gay,” he repeats for what must be the thousandth time. “Okay? Can we please stop bringing it up?”

“No, Rory, we can’t!” Amy looks furious. “I don’t understand why you can’t just admit it! You’re lying to your dad, you’re lying to the kids at school, you’re lying to _me,_ and worst of all, you’re lying to yourself!”

“Amy, I’m not lying!” He sits up angrily, his blood boiling. “I’m _not_ gay! All right? If you could just get that through your stupid, _thick_ head—”

“I wasn’t so stupid when I kicked Riley’s arse for you the other day,” Amy snaps. “As I recall it, you called me the best person in the world.”

“Adrenaline high,” Rory growls. “Only explanation as to why I would lie about something like that.”

In any other situation, it would be comical. It could almost be a friendly exchange between them, gentle teasing. And even if Rory doesn’t really mean it, he wants it to hurt. He wants it to hurt as much as she’s saying hurts. He wants her to feel what he’s feeling.

“I don’t understand why you insist on being such a pig-headed bastard!” She’s shouting now, and in a fit of childish anger she throws his book down to the ground, where it lands with a thud.

“I don’t understand why _you_ won’t just let it go!” he shouts back, and drops out of the tree.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she demands even before his feet have hit the ground.

“I’m getting my book and going inside!” he yells, shooting a glare back up the tree. Amy’s hands are gripped tight around two branches and her eyes are lit up with fury, but he doesn’t let himself back down. “And when you’ve decided to stop being such an idiot, then maybe we can talk.” He stalks toward the house and doesn’t look back.

“God, Rory, don’t be such a faggot!”

He refuses to let himself flinch. He won’t let himself look back. He won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing what it does to him to hear the word that’s tormented him for years slip from her mouth.

He doesn’t stop to swipe at his stinging eyes until the door has closed behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless, endless apologies for the numerous mistakes in British slang, the British school system, etc., in the last chapter. I promise I'll go back and fix all my mistakes once the story's complete! Please don't be too frustrated with me. I didn't realize there were so many differences. I'd assumed there were many more similarities than there actually are. I hope it didn't restrict your enjoyment of the previous chapter too much. Thank you to those who pointed out the mistakes.

In the morning, Rory takes off without waiting for Amy. He doesn’t see her while he rides his bike to school, he doesn’t run into her once he’s there, and at lunch, she takes one look at him, and then turns and walks in a different direction. As much as it hurts to see his best (only) friend walk away, he refuses to let her know that.

He tries to tell himself it’ll all blow over. He tries to tell himself that in a few days, things will be back to normal. But he doesn’t really believe it.

He’s sitting outside in the sun, shading a ragged tie on a man with ridiculous hair, when he feels a tap on his shoulder and an American accented voice asks, quietly, “Anybody sitting here?”

He looks up to see the new girl looking down at him. Her name, as he’d eventually learned in English the previous day, is Catherine Wilkerson. She’s pretty, and all of the popular kids like her, and Rory has the sinking feeling that she’s been sent to do someone’s dirty work.

“Look,” he says, and tries not to sound like too much of a loser, “if Renee Lister sent you over here, you can tell her she can fu—”

Catherine blushes slightly. “Uh, no. She didn’t. I just, um. I went to sit with them today, but they weren’t at the table they were at yesterday, so…”

He blinks at her. “It’s Wednesday. They eat inside on Wednesdays.”

“Oh.” She frowns, a tiny crease popping up between her eyebrows as they push together. “I didn’t know that. They didn’t tell me.”

“That doesn’t really surprise me,” he says, quirking a small smile at her. “You can sit if you want to. If you’re not afraid of getting your reputation a little dirty.”

She laughs, but sits anyway, setting her backpack at her feet. “I think I’ll take my chances. I can always plead ignorance, right?” Her eyes sparkle happily at him.

He hesitates, because that almost makes it sound like she’s going to turn on him, like she knows what a loser he is, and she’s just using him for brief companionship, then running off the moment she spots her other friends. A moment later, her eyes widen, and her mouth opens in a tiny little ‘o’. “Oh god, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t always think before I speak. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” he says, because she seems genuinely apologetic, and who is he to refuse anyone who’s willing to be nice to him right now?

“I’m Catherine.” She holds out one small, well-manicured hand for him to shake.

“Rory,” he responds, taking her hand in a firm grip.

She smiles at him when she pulls her hand away. “Nice to meet you, Rory.”

\---

It turns out that Catherine can somehow juggle being friends with Rory and being popular, because she’s sitting with Jeremy and Jason and Renee the next day, but none of them seem upset about the fact that she sat with Rory the day before, and she keeps shooting him glances as she eats, then looking away quickly. After school, he runs into her while he’s about to head home on his bike, spotting her sitting on the bench in front of the main stairs, braiding her hair.

On a sudden impulse, he switches directions and approaches the bench. “Catherine!” he calls.

She turns, looking surprised to see him coming, and then smiles. “Hi!” She quickly lifts her backpack off the bench and sets it on the ground by her feet, a clear invitation for him to sit.

“Waiting for someone?” he guesses.

“My mom,” she answers as she nimbly wraps a hair tie around the base of the new braid. “She’s running a little late. Should be here soon, but, you know.” She shrugs and tosses the braid over her shoulder.

“I’ll wait with you,” he decides, taking her invitation to sit. “So, how’s your first week going?”

“I’ve had worse first weeks. This is actually pretty good.” At his confused look, she explains, “We move a lot for my mom’s job. She’s a professional photographer for a calendar company.”

Rory raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how many great shots you’re gonna get in Leadworth. There’s literally nothing out here.”

Catherine shrugs and looks fondly away at the empty street, which runs about a mile east from school to the actual town. “I think it’s nice.”

“You’re crazy,” Rory says with a small shake of his head. As he does, his eye catches on a bright red car paused just at the entrance of the only parking lot the school has. Amy is looking at him sadly from inside, and their eyes meet for just the briefest of moments before Rory has to turn away and force himself to listen to what Catherine’s saying. A moment later, he hears the engine of the car as it turns away and heads to town. He pretends not to notice.

\---

“Rory Williams?”

Rory freezes, hearing his name from the slightly ajar girls’ bathroom, and backtracks a few steps, unable to help himself. He glances around quickly and then ducks behind a set of lockers.

“What’s wrong with that?” comes Catherine’s voice from inside the bathroom. “You said I could invite anyone to sit with us, so I told you who I wanted to!”

“You cannot do that,” Renee Lister says, sounding furious. “You’re going to ruin everything you’ve built up for yourself. People will never respect you again.”

“They seem to like what’s-her-name well enough.”

“Amy? That’s just because she and Jeremy are like, a day away from dating. He’s so into her it’s not even funny. But that’s not the point! We’re talking about you and your stupid crush—”

“It’s not a crush!” Catherine squeals indignantly. “I just think you guys aren’t very fair to him. He’s sweet, and funny, and I like him!”

“Yeah, you like him all right,” mutters Renee darkly.

“Shut up! You know what I mean! Just give him a chance. For me. Please?”

Their voices start drifting toward the door, so Rory quickly slips off. His heart is rapidly pounding in his chest as he rushes through the halls. He makes it through his next two classes in a daze, only half paying attention to the teachers as they talk about whatever it is that they’re talking about. If it’s true – if Catherine does like him – then what is he going to do? How is he supposed to handle this? It makes his hands get clammy with a combination of… God, he doesn’t even know. He has no clue how he’s supposed to feel right now – well, that’s not true. He knows how he’s supposed to feel. He’s supposed to feel excited and deliriously, annoyingly happy. But he has no idea what it is that he’s feeling right now.

At lunch, he sits at his usual table and glances up every thirty seconds, not sure whether he actually wants to see Catherine or not. Once, when he looks up, his gaze collides roughly with Amy’s as she steps out through the doors of the building to the open courtyard. For a brief second, they stare at each other, and then he jerks his head down and feels his cheeks heat up.

He jumps with surprise when a hand lands on his shoulder. He’s half-expecting it to be Adam or Jason – he’s certainly not expecting it to be Catherine.

“Hi!” He quickly pulls his backpack off the bench next to him. “You wanna sit?”

“Um, actually.” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and glances down shyly. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come sit with me, instead?”

He frowns. “Wouldn’t I be sitting with you here?”

“I meant…” She bites her bottom lip and tosses her head over her shoulder. His gaze slides past her to the table she’s gestured to – the table with Jeremy Jefferson and Renee Lister and Jason Myers and…

Oh.

And Amy Pond. Sitting next to Jeremy. Close to Jeremy. Very close to Jeremy.

He swallows hard. It’s one thing to invite open antagonism from Jeremy and Renee and Jason, but with Amy there, too?

“I know it’s not your usual crowd,” Catherine says, sounding practically desperate, “but… I’d really like it if you sat with me. Please? I think if you just gave them a chance, they’d like you.”

He hesitates. He really, really doesn’t want to, but what other choice does he have? It’s either that or possibly alienating his only friend at the moment, and he is not going to risk that.

He takes a deep breath, and then nods once, slowly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come.”

“Thank you!” She looks absolutely delighted, and she helps him gather his stuff into his backpack and then waits next to him while he pulls it over his shoulders and gathers his lunch up into his arms. Then he smiles at her and she asks, “Shall we?” and holds out her hand towards him.

He can’t help briefly tensing up, his eyes flicking down to her hand and then up to her face, and it takes him a good five seconds before he can finally bring himself to take it. Her skin is soft and her fingers are small in his. She gives him a smile that should melt his heart, but doesn’t.

He swallows and offers her the best approximation that he can give in return.

When they walk up, Renee Lister is watching them with a frown on her face, but she slides over so that they have room to sit down. “I guess you guys know Rory already,” Catherine says by way of introduction. She glances up at him unsurely as he slowly settles himself next to her.

Amy’s eyes flick up from her food and fix on Rory, but he pretends not to see. Instead he offers a weak smile at the people around him. A couple smile in return. Jeremy Jefferson is studying him from his place on the other side of the table, next to Amy, his eyes narrowed slightly and a small crease in his forehead. Rory turns his head away quickly, just in time to notice that he and Catherine are still holding hands.

He feels the blush creep back up and, unsuccessfully, tries to push it back down. Somehow, he has a feeling that this is not going to end well.

\---

He shouldn’t be surprised. The rumor mill in this town is worse than anywhere else in the whole damn country, so when Dad gets home and asks him, almost casually, during their microwave dinner, “So I heard there’s a girl?” he doesn’t know why it shocks him.

“Ran into Renee Lister’s mom on my way home,” Dad says by way of explanation.

Rory looks down at his rather ambiguous pasta, pokes at it with his fork. “There’s… kind of a girl,” he confirms with a shrug. He’s kind of iffy on whether or not it’s true. For one thing, he could have just completely misread her intentions. Maybe she was being completely truthful in the bathroom with Renee, when she said she didn’t like him. And for another thing, he… Well, he doesn’t really want to admit it, but he almost isn’t completely sure that he actually wants it to be true.

Dad studies him for a few long moments, and Rory tries to pretend that he can’t feel his gaze on him.

Finally, he speaks. “When do I get to meet her?”

Rory tenses, his fingers clenching tighter around his fork. “Um.” Panic flutters through his heart.

Dad rolls his eyes. “Oh, relax, it doesn’t have to be right away. I’m just wondering.” He pauses. “Where’s Amy been lately?”

Rory closes his eyes. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”

For a couple quiet seconds, Dad just stares at him, and then nods. “Just… Rory. If you two are fighting, or something, then… I want you to know that friends like Amy only come around once in a lifetime. It might just be best to make up and move on. Forgive and forget.”

“Sometimes you can’t do that, Dad,” Rory mumbles, and keeps his eyes fixed resolutely on the table in front of him. There’s no more discussion about it after that.

\---

“Party at my place on Friday,” Renee announces the next week.

“Again?” Jeremy raises an eyebrow, his arm around Amy’s shoulders. “You just had one.”

Renee shrugs. “Who am I to let an empty house go to waste?”

The others laugh, and they quickly divide up the tasks of verbal invitations, set up and clean-up, and finally, obtaining of food and (much to Rory’s anxiety) liquor. Renee claims she’ll be able to take care of that last one, but Jeremy waves her away and flashes a clearly fake ID at them all and, with a smirk, says, “I’ll get it.”

Rory says nothing, just ducks his head and tears at the crust of his sandwich with his free hand. The other is resting in his lap, with Catherine’s fingers intertwined in his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Amy shift uncomfortably. Aloud, she says, “Isn’t it kind of dangerous to have alcohol? I mean, they nearly called 999 last time, it got so loud.”

Renee waves it away with a flutter of one perfectly manicured hand. “We’ll just keep it down this time. Nobody’ll even know we were there.”

Amy doesn’t question it, but Rory still feels anxiety tugging at his stomach. It’s clear from the way that Catherine’s talking (using ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, with a meaningful glance over at Rory) that he’s expected to be there as well. Dad would kill him if he found out that he was a party with alcohol, and he knows for a fact Amy’s aunt would go after her, too.

When it’s time to return to class, he throws his mostly uneaten lunch in the trash and walks Catherine to class, feeling obligated somehow. He has an uncomfortable feeling that she thinks they’re dating – which isn’t really an issue, exactly, it’s just… He’s not sure he’s ready for that kind of thing. Yes, he knows most of the other boys his age have had girlfriends already, have been shagging them for years, but… He can’t quite explain it.

He stops outside Catherine’s math class, and she miles dazzlingly up at him – or, he supposes it’s dazzling, judging by the angry, jealous looks he gets from the other boys passing them in the hall. Her teeth are rather white, he notices. It’s probably just his worry about the alcohol that’s messing with him. He’ll be fine soon.

“Look, um.” Catherine pauses, bites her bottom lip, like she’s not sure if she wants to say whatever’s about to come out of her mouth. “I’ve been talking with Renee a lot, and, um, it seems like the other girls have already…” She hesitates again and glances around them, as if to reassure herself that no one’s listening. “Well, you know. Just, um, could you be ready, on Friday? Bring, you know… what we’ll need?”

She looks desperate, and Rory stares at her for a long time, completely oblivious. He has no idea what she’s talking about.

“Sure?” he says, and if it comes out more as a question than he intended, well… Not much he can do about it now.

“Thank you so much,” she breathes, her eyes lighting up with relief. She grabs both his hands and leans up on her toes to give him a swift kiss. It takes him completely by surprise, and he jerks away maybe a touch too quickly. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, just gives him the flash of a smile as she turns away.

The late bell’s already rung by the time Rory can make his feet move again.


	11. Chapter 11

Friday comes too fast – too fast for Rory to figure out what’s going on, too fast for Rory to collect himself, too fast for Rory to really take in the fact that he’s actually going to one of these parties. The part about it all that scares Rory the most is the fact that Dad doesn’t even seem concerned about any of it. He just smiles at Rory and calls, “Have fun,” as he walks out the door.

He doesn’t even bother riding his bike, he just walks the two and a half short blocks to Renee Lister’s house. He pauses on the sidewalk and looks up, as other kids climb out of their cars, chattering and heading up to the house. Rory doesn’t even think he knows some of these kids, and he doesn’t know how that’s even possible in a town like Leadworth.

The last time he was here, he thinks, was Renee’s eighth birthday party. It was the last time Renee’s parents had forced her to invite _everyone,_ the last time anyone’s parents had forced them to do so. Rory and Amy had slipped out early because everyone else was boring and had rushed off to find another adventure somewhere else.

He takes a deep breath and tells himself nothing bad is going to happen. He tells himself he’s going to go in there, to his beautiful girlfriend, and he’s going to have fun, and _nothing bad is going to happen_.

He almost manages to convince himself.

The door is wide open, so he just steps inside with the flow of everyone else – and immediately, every single one of his senses is assaulted. There’s music blaring out of speakers he can’t see and everyone’s trying to talk over each other. The lights are dimmed enough not to really be able to see where he’s going, but there are bright flashes of color every now and then and he can’t figure out where they’re coming from. The scents of alcohol and sweat mix in the air, and there are people pushing up against him from all sides. There’s a disgusting taste in the back of his throat. Eventually, he just forces his way through everyone in the direction of what he hopes is a more open area.

He emerges, gasping for air, in the kitchen, intensely grateful for the chill of the air conditioning and the mostly empty room.

“Rory!”

He’s shocked by his sudden armful of teenage girl as Catherine throws herself at him and grins like a maniac. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide as she presses a kiss to his lips – a kiss that smells and tastes distinctly like cheap beer, a guess that’s confirmed by the can in her hand. He pulls away as quickly as possible and gives her a weak smile.

“I’m so glad you came,” she gushes. “I almost thought you wouldn’t.” She gives him another kiss on the cheek, and he has to wipe away saliva when she looks away so she can wrap herself around him.

He looks up then, and awkwardly meets eyes with Amy, who just sort of ducks her head and sniffs at the plastic cup in her hands. She doesn’t seem very interested in it, though, because she sets it on the counter behind her, and crosses her arms over her chest, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Jeremy has an arm around her, but he’s so engaged in a conversation with some kid Rory doesn’t know to notice how awkward she’s obviously feeling.

There’s a tug on Rory’s elbow just then, pulling his attention away. Catherine is pulling him towards the door, dragging him down so that she can whisper in his ear. “So Renee’s parents’ bedroom should be open. Or at least, that’s what Renee told me. I hope you don’t mind that I told her?” She bites her bottom lip, then, looking worried and confused and—

_Shit._

Bedroom. _Empty_ bedroom. With just the two of them. _”What we’ll need…”_ It all makes so much more sense now, and god, Rory’s an idiot for not realizing sooner. He wasn’t born yesterday, she’d made it plain as day, but…

Oh _god_ , Catherine wants to have sex with him.

Her hand slides down from his elbow to grasp his hand, and she gives him a little smile as she tugs him toward the stairs. His heart is suddenly beating a million times faster and pushing at his throat, and there’s a tiny part of him that thinks he might cry because he is _so_ not ready for this. But they’re heading up the stairs and she’s pulling him along behind her faster and faster as they get to the top, and then they’re stopped in front of a bedroom and she closes the door behind them and locks it and then she turns to him and oh dear sweet Jesus Christ he has no idea what to do now.

“Um.” She pushes her hair back from her face. “Did you bring…?”

His face goes hot and bright red. “Uh, no. I…” He trails off. There’s no excuse for this. He has no reason for being this dumb.

“Okay, okay, that’s fine.” He’s not sure which one of them she’s consoling, because she looks just… well, _almost_ as nervous as he feels.

But then she steps forward and whispers, “Just… Um, sit down,” so he does, and then, biting her lip, she slowly slips her shirt up her sides and over her arms and over her head and then it falls in a graceful arc to the floor. It’s not until the folds have settled that Rory can look up, and then all he gets is an eyeful of breasts. She’s wearing a simple bra, a shiny black bit of clothing that covers only what it needs to. His eyes flick up to her face as she slips out of her impossibly short skirt (he has no idea how she managed to get up the stairs without someone glancing up and letting out a catcall) and lets the bit of fabric fall to the ground with her shirt. Then, clad in nothing but the bra and a pair of skimpy panties, she steps toward him and slowly sits in his lap, facing him.

She stares at him like he’s supposed to do something, but of the love of everything that is, was, and ever will be, he can’t figure out what it is.

Eventually, though, she seems to realize this, because she grabs one of his wrists and lifts it slowly to place it on her breast. His eyes widen, and his gaze flicks up to meet hers, but she just looks at him with eyes full of… He doesn’t even know what it is. It’s part desperation, and part… want? It doesn’t make sense.

She slides a hand down his chest, over his shirt, down to his belt, and then over that one area he’s afraid to even let himself touch. He gulps as her palm closes over him through his trousers, bracing himself for…

Well, nothing really. He doesn’t know what he expected. Some sort of immediate jump to attention, maybe, but that’s obviously not how things work. She starts to rub him through his trousers, even as she gives him a push so he’s laying back on the bed. She leans over him, and, slowly, presses a kiss to his lips, before letting her mouth ghost over his skin until she reaches his shirt and she works at the buttons one at a time. He holds his breath when she pushes the shirt out of the way and trails down his chest and stomach with her fingers. She tugs at his belt and has his trousers out of the way before he’s really managed to gather himself, and then she’s breathing against him through only a single layer of fabric, and then even that’s gone and—

“Can’t you give me at least _something_ here?” she asks, sounding more desperate than she probably should. He sits up slightly, frowning at her, then glances down at himself, and—oh.

He blushes. “I can’t just… Make something happen,” he says, stumbling over the words, because for the love of god, he’s got a girl about to give him his first blowjob, and she’s wearing nothing but her skimpy little panties and a bra, and _really_ , probably every guy downstairs would give anything to be in his place right now, and he can’t even get it up.

“Is it me?” she asks, and oh god, there are tears in her eyes. Rory doesn’t do tears. Rory doesn’t do crying, and he especially doesn’t do crying when he’s naked.

“No, no, no!” He sits up quickly, and he wants to pull her into a hug, but that just doesn’t seem like the right thing to be doing right now. “No, I just… I don’t know.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard that it hurts. What is _wrong_ with him?

She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and stands up. “Maybe we should just… not,” she mumbles as she reaches for her clothes.

“Catherine, wait.” He grabs her wrist. “Look, we can try, right? I mean, maybe if you just give it a little more time…”

“What’s gonna happen now that hasn’t already happened?” she asks, and pulls her hand away so she can put her clothes on, and then she turns and leaves and, thankfully, closes the door behind her, because Rory’s still naked and really, he needs a minute to himself.

\---

He doesn’t go back to the party, even once he’s dressed. Well, he does, but only so he can tell Catherine that he’s going, and when he sees her standing in the kitchen with this sad little smile on her face and one of Jeremy’s arms around her while the other is around Amy, who looks absolutely miserable, not that anyone seems to be able to tell.

When he comes home, Dad is sitting on the couch, and he looks genuinely surprised to see Rory, and maybe even a little disappointed, but he pats the seat on the couch next to him and says, “You wanna watch bad horror movies?”

He falls onto the sofa and stares at the screen for a long time before he says, finally, “Dad, can I ask you a… kind of serious question?”

Dad glances over at him, and something of his emotions must show on his face, because he mutes the movie before speaking. “Of course you can. What’s going on?”

He runs a hand through his hair, feels a lump rise up in his throat. “I… If… You’ve heard about… the stuff kids at school say about me, right?”

“They say lots of things about you, Rory,” Dad says slowly, and god, how he wishes that wasn’t true.

“Yeah,” Rory breathes out. “But I mean… You know. The gay stuff.”

“Oh.” Dad’s silent for a minute. “Rory, did something happen at the party?”

Rory presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees color and stars burst on the backs of his eyelids. “I, um. Catherine wanted to… Um.” He chokes off, because how can he talk about this with _anyone,_ let alone his dad?

“And…” He can feel Dad’s gaze on him, even if he can’t see it. “Did she say something? Did something happen?”

His throat closes around the lump, and for a moment he can’t even form the words to describe it. “No. Nothing happened. I couldn’t…” He chokes off.

“Oh, Rory, don’t worry!” Dad gives his shoulder a squeeze. “That’s nothing! It happens to everyone now and then. It’s not like you could’ve done anything about it, you shouldn’t try to force stuff like that, especially the first time.” His voice goes deadly serious. “It was the first time, right?”

He barely manages to laugh. “Yeah, it was. But, Dad…” And shit, he had time to think about this on the walk home. He can’t even pretend anymore. He can feel it beating in his chest like his love for his dad and his friendship with Amy. It’s a part of him and if he tries to pretend anymore he’s gonna explode.

He takes a deep, shaky breath to try to brace himself, and then says, as calmly as he possibly can, “Dad, I think I might actually be gay.”

The silence seems to stretch on for years. Ages, even. But when he looks up, Dad doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look upset, or sad, or anything, really. There’s no expression on his face, except maybe surprised, and even that is just barely there.

He eventually, finally, takes a deep breath and says, “I don’t know what to say. I… I’m not sure if I really… I don’t…” He rubs a hand over his face, and Rory’s stomach clenches, but he goes on. “I wasn’t exactly expecting this.” He huffs out a breathy laugh. “But if you’re sure…” And he looks up there, as if to make sure, and Rory bites his lip because he’s _not_ sure – he’s not sure about anything, least of all this, but he’s fairly confident in the idea , so he nods slightly and Dad closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he holds his arms out and Rory scoots toward him the best he can. He knows most everyone else has moved away from the whole hugging-when-you’re-sad thing, but he just kind of came out to his dad, and he’s only sixteen for god’s sake. He can hug his dad if he wants. So he does, and for a little, everything feels just that little bit better.

\---

And it’s a good thing, too, because the next morning is a horror. He gets to school and can immediately feel eyes on him from all sides. It makes him edgy all through his morning classes, and when lunchtime comes, it doesn’t get any better, because there isn’t a spot for him at the table.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing or why he thinks it’s a good idea, but he approaches the table slowly, stops just behind Catherine, and clears his throat. He sees her back tense, sees Jeremy roll his eyes, sees Renee shake her head and Amy look away from him guiltily.

“Catherine?” he tries, and really, he doesn’t know why he bothers.

Slowly, she turns to face him and says, calmly, “I don’t think you should sit with us today. Or… at all.”

He feels the blood drain from his face and whispers, “Is this about…?”

“Oh, don’t bother whispering,” Renee snaps. “We all know, okay? You can stop hiding it.”

“Renee,” Amy starts, and it’s like a shock to Rory’s system. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s heard that tone in her voice – that protective, slightly angry tone that makes him want to hug her and cry at the same time.

“No, shut up, Amy, I don’t care how you feel about your stupid little boyfriend.” Renee’s eyes flick back to Rory, and she looks furious. “We all fucking know. Just get your gay little arse out of here, because no one wants to deal with it, all right? It was bad enough having you parade it around school like you just ingested a rainbow and fucked a unicorn, but then you try to force it on Catherine, and I’m not fucking dealing with it anymore. So just… Get out. Now.”

Every word is like a sword going through Rory’s gut. He nods slightly, feeling his throat clench up again, and he turns away and starts to leave and all he really wants to do is run away and hide in the bathrooms because he’s only sixteen, for god’s sake, he’ll cry in the bathrooms and skip lunch if he wants to.

And then a miracle happens.

“Oh my _god_ , Renee, you are the biggest _bitch_ I have ever met!”

He turns back, shocked, because Amy is standing up with her hands clenched into fists and her eyes blazing and her hair forming a furious halo around her head. “Do you have any idea how much what you say hurts people? Do you even care? Or are you just doing it on purpose? Because I’ve got a news flash for you! The rest of us learned some fucking manners back when we were six, but apparently nobody ever taught you anything about that, because you are just such a _bitch_!”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” Renee says, but it comes out more like a squealing screech, and if Amy’s outburst hadn’t drawn the attention of everybody else outside, this does.

“Oh, screw you, Renee!” Amy shoots back furiously. “This isn’t about you, so just shut up. I’m sick and tired of listening to all of you trash talk everyone at this school. There is literally nothing that makes you better than anyone else. You can’t even use the ‘oh, but we have so much more money than them!’ excuse because you don’t. Every single one of you is just like every single one of them and I’m tired of there being a difference! The only thing that makes you any different from them is that you’re louder about your opinions, and all your opinions are wrong and stupid and just _mean_. You’ve terrorized Rory since we were all six, and ever since then it’s just gotten worse. If he’s not gay, you’ve been making stupid jokes about something that’s not even true, and if he is, you’ve made his life a living hell because of something he can’t control. And I’m tired of it.”

She looks over at him, and when their eyes meet, it’s like she falters for a moment, like she doesn’t know what to say, and then she takes a deep breath to steady herself and she says, “I made a really stupid mistake, and I’m probably gonna end up paying for it. Rory’s a great guy, and if none of you can see that, then you don’t deserve to have him sitting with you. Or me, for that matter.” She looks over at Jeremy. “You can find somebody else to try to convince to sleep with you, because we’re done.” Then she picks up her tray, throws her backpack over her shoulder, and walks toward Rory like a woman on a mission, and then she’s got his elbow in her hand and she’s dragging him away from them, and it feels like every confrontation they’ve ever had with anybody about this only in reverse.

When they get inside, Amy carefully sets her tray down on the floor, straightens, looks at him seriously for a long time, and then throws her arms around him and starts crying into his shirt, and Rory loses it and buries his face in her hair. When the bell rings, they leave school on Rory’s bike and go back to his house and he thinks it’s gotta be the best day of his life.


End file.
